


Only a Dream

by thelovelylydia



Category: Alice In Wonderland - Lewis Carroll, Alice Through the Looking Glass, Alice in Wonderland (Movies - Burton), Alice in Wonderland - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2018-09-24 00:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9691559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelovelylydia/pseuds/thelovelylydia
Summary: Aisling's mother is dying and there is no hope for her in this world. Since she was a young girl growing up on The Wonder, Aisling heard tales of the 'looking glass' world and all of her mother's friends there. Including the story of her mother traveling back to save the Mad Hatter, Tarrant Hightopp, from dying. Armed with hope that he will return the favor, Aisling travels down the rabbit hole with the aims of finding a cure. She ends up discovering more than she bargains for. (Events from AiW 2010 and ATTLG, as well as the original novels).





	1. Teacups and Journals

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Only a Dream
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Pairings: Lowell/Margaret, Alice/Tarrant
> 
> Summary: Aisling's mother is dying and there is no hope for her in this world. Since she was a young girl growing up on The Wonder, Aisling heard tales of the 'looking glass' world and all of her mother's friends there. Including the story of her mother traveling back to save the Mad Hatter, Tarrant Hightopp, from dying. Armed with hope that he will return the favor, Aisling travels down the rabbit hole with the aims of finding a cure. She ends up discovering more than she bargains for. (Events from AiW 2010 and ATTLG, as well as the original novels).
> 
> So, yes, I have like three stories I should be working on. Don't worry, MSOL III is not abandoned, I just want to work on something along with it. And I was thinking back on an idea I saw on tumblr right around when Alice Through the Looking Glass came out and it melded with another idea...and so this came about. And I see it being a "short" (by Lydia standards) ficts, about 10 parts, and I haven't seen anything like it, so I wanted to spice things up a bit.
> 
> I will say that, yes, there is an OC in this. No, the OC will not be Hatter's love interest. We'll get that out in the open to start off. And without further adieu- I hope you enjoy

"Aisling! Aisling! Where are you?" The shaking voice of her grandmother could be heard through the halls.

Aisling stood before the stone fireplace in the manor, her muddy green eyes looking up intently at the golden framed looking glass. The room was a rather ordinary office, littered with maps and uncomfortable chairs and chess games in the midst of a match, but if Aisling squinted _just_ right, she might be able to see another world. She looked very much out of place in the traditional office, dressed in a deep emerald green cotton frock, a white pinafore tied about her waist. Her long curly red hair fell to her elbows, a haloed mess about her long pale face. She was like a fairy creature among the ordinary, her hazel eyes watching the looking glass hanging above as if waiting for a portal to her proper home in the world beyond.

"Aisling Shaylee!" The young girl felt a hand clasp about her arm, pulling her attention away from the mantel and all its knickknacks and curious machines. "Have you not heard me calling you?"

"I did, Nana," Aisling sighed heavily.

"Oh, child, what is all your huffing about?" Her grandmother knelt before her, pulling a kerchief from her dress pocket and licking it to begin to affectionately wipe the child's face.

"I was just wondering about the looking glass world." Aisling twisted in the older woman's grasp as she glanced over her shoulder back up toward the mirror. "Mum said it was here that she climbed through to the other world."

"Aisling," her grandmother sighed, running her hands through the girl's wild red curls. "You must put those thoughts from your mind. "I thought you were supposed to be practicing your letters with Ida?"

"That girl is insufferable." Aisling turned with wide hazel eyes toward Nana, her small pink mouth twisting into a frown. "She is so bossy and she tells me that I do all my stitching all wrong." Aisling pinched her nose up as she looked past Nana, raising her voice in a lilting mock. "' _Really_ Aisling, your socks are falling and your hair's a mess; you look a ragamuffin.'"

Nana chuckled fondly, shaking her greying locks as her tired blue eyes swept her granddaughter's face. "You do look a street child," she pinched the girl's cheek lovingly. "But you are no different than your mother was at your age. Precocious and meddlesome." The smile that had lighted on the woman's pink mouth faded.

"How is mum?" Aisling cocked her head. Her grandmother stood, holding out her hand to the girl. Aisling took it, her heart racing as her grandmother squeezed her hand tightly. "The doctor came today, didn't he? It's why I did not come home at lunch like I do on Tuesdays."

"She's…she's managing, Aisling." Nana led Aisling out of the small study, shutting the door behind her. "The doctor said she is much the same as she was last week."

"But she wasn't better last week." Aisling said.

Nana shook her head, her mouth tight. "No, Aisling. She wasn't." She led the girl along the hall and down a set of stairs to the foyer of the manor, her blue eyes watching her steps as she held her grey woolen skirt in her hand. A force of habit for the prim and proper lady.

"Ah, Lady Kingsleigh," the shrill voice of a younger woman caught Nana's attention. Aisling peered around her grandmother's skirts, frowning as the pink and white hued shape of Lady Ascot approached the two, her long face bearing a forced smile as her blue eyes danced with disdain.

"Lady Ascot," Nana nodded her head politely.

"I see you found Aisling." Lady Ascot flushed as she clutched a fan in her hand. "I am so very sorry about losing track of her. I did not realize the governess had allowed her to slip off— "

"There's no need to apologize, Lady Ascot," Nana interrupted what would no doubt turn into a longwinded string of excuses. "She has been found safe and sound. I trust that she will be welcomed back this coming Friday."

"Oh, yes, certainly." Lady Ascot grinned down at Aisling. The young girl wrinkled her nose as she returned the lady's gesture with a grimace. "How is Alice?" Her blue eyes returned to the face of Nana. "I have heard that typhoid can be devastating and we haven't heard— "

"She is much the same," Nana interrupted the lady with a tight voice. "Typhoid is indeed unkind, and can be both swift and prolonged. The doctor thinks she may have a week or two left at most."

"I am so very sorry," Lady Ascot's face flashed with a genuine frown of sadness. "I cannot imagine how hard this has been on…" she did not finish as her gaze fell onto Aisling.

Aisling hated when grown-ups talked about her as if she were not there.

"Aisling is doing well. I am sure she will flourish under your well selected governess' care, as long as the woman is able to keep track of her."

"I promise that in the future, Governess Ethel will mind her better. Though I am sure Aisling won't make it easy." The lady took too much pleasure in saying that. "She is a mischievous one," Lady Ascot forced a smile across her face once more.

"Indeed." Nana said as she wrapped her hand around the back of Aisling's head. "Now, we must be on our way if we wish to get back to my daughter's for tea."

"Certainly," Lady Ascot tipped her chin. "We will see you this coming Friday; I am sure the board looks forward to hearing some of your proposals for the port in Shanghai."

"As I am sure they always look forward to hearing a woman talk business and property." Aisling looked up to watch as Nana let loose a heavy exhale. "Alice was much better at dealing with them all; I am afraid I lack her…tenacity."

"It's call muchness, Nana." Aisling interrupted.

Nana looked down at the girl sweetly. "Yes, darling, her muchness."

Lady Ascot's demeanor softened as she watched the old woman's blue eyes glass alight on her granddaughter. "I shan't keep you any longer. Have a good evening, Lady Kingsleigh."

"The same to you," Nana said, pushing against the small of Aisling's back to direct her forward. Aisling responded, heading toward the large umber oak doors.

"You should not have run off on Governess Ethel," Nana scolded Aisling, walking behind the young girl as Aisling trudged down the steps to the carriage parked outside the manor.

"But she was so awfully boring," Aisling groaned as she dragged her black shoed feet. "She kept making me speak French, and I do hate speaking French."

"You should learn it," Nana said with a sigh. "It is helpful for you to know if you wish to be a sailor like your mother."

" _Je suis, tu es, il est, elle est_ ," the girl sighed, kicking at a stone as she waited for the coachman to open the door.

Nana nodded at the coachman who hurried to the aid of the two ladies. "You could use some help on your pronunciation." Nana said as she waved for the girl to climb through the now open door.

"It's not _that_ important," Aisling rolled her eyes. "Besides… _W_ _ō_ _xi_ _ā_ _ng ch_ _ėngwėi yī míng yàzhōu hăidào_."

Nana sighed as she followed Aisling into the carriage, gripping her skirts as she climbed up wearily into the vehicle. "You know I do not do well with Chinese, Aisling."

"I want to be an Asian pirate," Aisling translated for her. "There is nothing worth stealing in France. Just stinky cheese."

"There are many who do not share those sentiments, Aisling," Nana sighed as she settled onto the cushioned bench, "so those remarks might be best left to yourself."

"Fine," Aisling pouted into her bench, her arms crossing over her chest. "Must we go back to Aunt Margaret's? When are we going to board _The Wonder_?"

"I…" Nana looked down at Aisling with an open mouth, her eyes searching the girl. "I do not yet know, Aisling. It depends upon your mother's health."

"I do wish she'd get better," the girl muttered, her eyes scanning the woods as the carriage began its journey down the long drive toward the main road. "I miss sailing and I miss the teas and the spices and all the scents and shouting with the market woman for a good price on starfruits."

"I know." Her grandmother leant forward as she fished a small treat from her pocket. "I miss China from time to time, too," she whispered as she pulled forth a small wrapped package. Aisling leant forward as Nana unwrapped the gift, revealing small dark colored cubes. "You mustn't tell your mother I said that I missed that port and the people or she'll give me a satisfied smile that will make my head spin. If you keep it a secret, you can have some more of these after tea."

" _Shāo xiān cǎo_!" The girl exclaimed, taking one of the small sweets in hand.

"Made from the fairy grass for my fairy girl," Nana said with a sweet smile. "Do not eat too many; I want you to be well behaved to visit your mother."

* * *

"Of course I will," Aisling promised before popping a piece of the bitter treat into her mouth.

"That's my fairy-child." Nana said as she leant back in her seat. She drifted into a doze as Aisling watched the unfamiliar and overly green English countryside pass by.

"Mum! Mum!" Aisling shouted as she hurried down the corridor to the room at the back of the house. Her voice echoed off the blue walls, joining in a thunderous cacophony with the tapping of her shoes on the tile.

"Aisling!" The strict sound of her aunt's voice scolded her as she emerged from Mother's room. "Your mother is trying to rest, you need to keep your voice down."

Aisling slowed, her pale cheeks burning red with embarrassment as she looked up at her aunt with a sheepish grin. "I am sorry, Aunt Maggie."

Her aunt, dressed in a lilac frock, had her hands on her hips, but she sighed defeatedly when she looked down at her niece. "It is okay, darling." She knelt to peer into the girl's face. "You seem to have had some sweets. You have them all over your darling pink mouth." She licked her thumb before cleaning the girl's lips. "There, now you'll give your mother sweet kisses and not sticky ones."

"Is she awake?" Aisling whispered rather loudly. Margaret's blue eyes crinkled as watched Aisling's hazel eyes.

"She is, she just awoke."

"Can I see her?" Aisling tried to peer around the door.

"Just for a short visit," Aunt Margaret preened the young girl, pulling at her skirts and fixing her collar. "Then you need to join me and William in the parlor for tea. Sweets are not enough for you."

"Yes ma'am," Aisling bounced as she waited for the woman to set her free. She had not been able to see her mother in several days, her mother struggling with a high fever and shakes. Nana had feared that Aisling would put too much stress on Mother, that what the woman needed was uninterrupted rest.

"You're a good girl, Aisling," Aunt Margaret patted her cheek lovingly. She pressed a kiss into the crown of her orange curls as she stood, stepping out of Aisling's path fluidly. "Remember, Aisling. We use gentle voices and we do our best to mind our manners." Aisling nodded her head, her wide green eyes looking up to her aunt awaiting further instruction. "Go on!"

Aisling tried her best to walk calmly into the room, but her excitement got the best of her and she sprinted through the door and onto the carpet. The room was dimly lit; the curtain was only partially drawn to let the remaining light of the day in, while several candles in candelabras sat on a small table on the opposite side of the room. Aisling made her way hesitantly toward the poster bed, slowing as she crossed over the Persian rug.

She quietly took her place at the side of her mother's bed, her hazel eyes peering over the edge. Mother's face was turned away, her cheek and neck were littered with the rosy rash that accompanied her progressing disease. Aisling feared that the woman had fallen asleep, as she was known to do.

"Mum?" She whispered.

Her mother turned her head slowly, her curly blonde hair pulling as she looked at Aisling with a similar set of hazel eyes. A small grin passed her chapped lips as she shifted her body to face the small girl.

"Tarrant?" She murmured as she looked at the small girl.

"No, it's me, Aisling!" Aisling bounced as she searched her mother's pale face.

"Oh, my darling wonder-girl." Her mother weakly patted a small space beside the bed. "I thought for a moment that you were— "

"The Hatter!" Aisling giggled as she climbed up onto the mattress beside her mother, curling up against the woman's warm body. "I am not the Mad Hatter, I am your little girl."

"That you are," Mother mused as she wrapped her arm about the child. "And how fast you grow. How old will you be this coming year?"

"I will seven years old!" Aisling whispered as she pressed her forehead to her mother's.

"Oh, how I wish I could pay a visit to Time and tell him to stop your clock on this minute, so you'll never grow any older." Mother scrunched her nose as she tickled Aisling's belly.

"Mother!" Aisling groaned. "Then I shall never become a pirate, ferocious and brave, on the Oriental shores."

"I certainly hope you won't become a pirate," Mother coughed gently. "You will need to become an honest and true sailor, traveling the Yellow River in search of great treasure."

"I will be a true and honest pirate, then, searching for a chest of gold." Aisling wrapped her arms about her mother's neck. "Do you think I could find the Fountain of Eternity in China?"

Her mother cocked her head slightly as her eyes searched her face. "The Fountain of Eternity? Was Mr. Harcourt telling you wild tales at brunch again?"

"He said one of the sailors heard a tale in the ports about the Fountain of Eternity, that it would keep someone alive forever."

"Hmm," her mother hummed as her gaze drifted to the ceiling. "That sounds like an awfully long time."

"How long is forever, mum?"

" _Sometimes just one second_ ," her mother mused. "That was what a friend of mine once said to me."

"One of your friends from the looking glass world?" Aisling sat up slightly, holding her head up on her hand as she watched her mother's face.

"The White Rabbit," Mother whispered back.

"Tell me the story again."

Mother sighed, but a small smile crept across her lips. "You know all of them, Aisling. You can't possibly want to hear about them all again?" Mother's head buried into the pillow as she shifted slightly, let loose another deep cough. "And there are so many; which one would you even want to hear again?"

"The one where you made the Mad Hatter well again."

"Ah, yes, that one." Mother closed her eyes. "You like to hear that one an awful lot lately."

"Do you think the Mad Hatter could come here? Could make you well again?" Aisling felt her heart tighten as she waited hopefully for her mother's answer.

The woman stilled, her eyes not yet opening. A shaky exhale left her lips before she turned her face to look directly at her daughter. "Aisling, has Nana told you yet what the doctor said to me?"

"He said you were doing as well as you were the week before."

She watched as mother frowned, her eyes darting to the door before returning to her daughter's face. "Well, that is both true and not true. Give me your hand, my wonder-child." Aisling obeyed, noticing her mother's hands were clammy and thick with sweat. She tried her best not to tremble, her stomach flipping as she met her mother's gaze. "You remember that my father, your Papa, died when I was young girl."

"I remember. You told me you loved him very much."

Mother's eyes sheened with tears. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing beneath the thin curve of her long neck. "Yes, yes I did. His loss hurt me very much." Aisling felt her mother's grip tighten about her hand. "Aisly, my wonder-child, I am afraid that I am not long for this world. I am very, very sick and the doctor can do nothing for me."

"Are you going to…are you going to die?" Aisling felt her throat burn as her mother's image grew blurry.

"Oh, my darling, I am afraid I will." Mother struggled to sit, her thin arms drawing Aisling against her chest. "I am telling you this because I fear that others won't. That they will try to hide the truth from you because you are so young. I want you to know. I want you to know that I love you, more than one should be able to love, and I want the best for you. Mr. Harcourt is going to make sure that you are trained in the ways of sailing and trading, you'll live here with Aunt Maggie…"

"But…but I don't want you to go!" Aisling felt her eyes burst with tears, her screams filling the room. "You must get well! We must sail the Yangzi together and we must escape pirates and meet dowager empresses and drink tea from porcelain cups."

"So you shall do all of these things, my darling wonder-child. But you must do them without me."

"No!" Aisling screeched, clawing against her mother in a blind rage. "I do not want to do them alone. You must come with me. You must get better. _You must!_ "

"Aisling," Mother's voice was serious, causing the child to sober up. She opened her hazel eyes to see that her mother wore a grim look across her face. "I am afraid that getting better is impossible."

"You _hate_ that word, because you know that nothing is impossible!" Aisling insisted as she flew forward into her mother's arms. "You will get better because it _is_ impossible."

"Aisling," her mother peeled her from her body. "I am sorry, my love, but I am not going to be able to do it this time." She sat Aisling in front of her, stroking the girl's cheek. "It is the end of my impossibles, it is only the beginning of yours."

"No, mother, please!" Aisling's body began to shake with sobs. Mother's gaze softened, her hazel eyes wetting with tears as she looked at the grief of her daughter. Aisling continued to plead as she watched the woman's face. Mother's pallor drained and, before long, a small drop of blood was running down from her nose. Mother reached up to dab her fingers to it gently, wiping the liquid away on her chemise as she settled back onto the bed.

"I must rest, now, Aisling."

"I can wait with you. I can sit here and remain quiet; as quiet as Mally is."

"Oh, my wonder-child, you know the dormouse is never silent. She's a mad mouse, as loud as the rest of the lunatics at the tea table." Mother continued to stroke the girl's face, her green eyes growing heavy as she began to drift off to sleep.

Aisling wiped at the tears on her cheek as she bent forward to press her ear to her mother's chest, listening to her beating heartbeat. Her body rose and fell with her mother's inhales and exhales, her limbs melding into Mother's. Her small fingers sneaked up the length of Mother's right arm until she could feel the three long scars that marked the soft skin of the woman's upper arm. Aisling thought of the story of the Bandersnatch, the one her mother told her over and over again.

"I will go and ask Time to give you another watch, one that isn't filled with butter and crumbs."

"Oh, Aisly, my love."

"Aisling!" The sound of Aunt Maggie's voice filled the room. "You must be gentle!"

"She's fine, Maggie. She isn't going to harm my health by laying with me."

"You look so tired, Alice." Aunt Margaret observed as she approached the bed. "And your nose is bleeding again!"

"As it does nearly every day," Mother let out a cough.

"Come, Aisling, it is time for you to leave; your tea is getting cold."

Aisling glanced down at mother hesitantly, her mouth tight. Mother returned her gaze with a small approving nod of her head. "You wouldn't want to miss tea time," Mother whispered into her ear. "All the properly insane people attend tea."

"Clean cup!" Aisling answered back.

"Yes," Mother nodded. "Listen to Aunt Margaret."

Aisling quickly placed a kiss on the side of her mother's mouth before sliding from the bed, walking dejectedly past her aunt and toward the door. She turned to wait for the older woman to join her, but instead Aunt Margaret stayed at Mother's side.

"Aunt Maggie…"

"Go on, Alice. William and Uncle Lowell are already in the parlor. I'll be there shortly." The woman said. Aisling grumbled, but walked through the door all the same. She did not, however, continue down the hall. Instead she pressed herself to the wall, straining to hear the conversation between sisters.

"Oh, Alice," Aunt Margaret sighed.

"Will she…do you think she'll be alright?"

"Who, Aisling?" Aunt Margaret forced a comforting chuckle. "She will persevere in your absence, as you persevered in Father's absence." The sound of the bed squeaking indicated that the older woman had taken a seat next to her sister. "It might help, Alice, if she could see her father. You know, before you left her."

Her mother did not respond for a moment and Aisling felt the hope of knowing who her other half was when the woman finally said, "That is as impossible as me becoming well again."

"She'll want to know, when she's older." Aunt Margaret insisted. "What am I to tell her? Was it a pirate? Is that why she wishes to sail the seas as a scallywag?" Her voice was light, a small joke.

"Oh Maggie," Mother whispered, her voice growing frail and soft. "I wish it were as simple as a pirate or a sailor or even Mr. Harcourt," a small pause filled the air. "It isn't James. Surely you know he is of a greater honor than to not be honest."

"He isn't any more your type than Hamish was," Aunt Margaret sighed. "Is there any way you can leave me a letter to give her when she grows older?"

"Aisling knows," Mother said. Aisling shook her head. _I do not know, Mother! You have never told me where I came from!_ "She will understand when she is older."

"I hope she doesn't come to believe she has been left by the fairies," Aunt Margaret chuckled.

"It was only a dream," her mother sighed. "It was only a dream, and it wasn't. A reality. But who's to say…"

"Alice?"

"Which is which?" A giggle filled the air. "Gardens of memory and palaces of dreams."

"I will be back soon to bring you some tea, maybe a cake." Aunt Margaret spoke over Mother's rambling voice. The sound of her shoes filled the room and Aisling quickly scrambled to peel herself away from the wall and hurry down the hall. It would not do at all if her proper aunt caught her eavesdropping.

Aisling tried to walk on her tiptoes so that her shoes did not tap on the floor as she hurried along, praying she was not caught as her head swirled with what her mother had said.

 _She knows. She'll understand when she is older_.

What did all of this mean? Why could father not come and stay with her if mother was leaving? Maybe he was the captain of one of the great ships that sailed all about the world, marveling in spices and foods and languages and fabrics.

He would have a huge red beard that reached to his belly, flowing wavy ginger hair that cascaded over his back. Several menacing tattoos that covered large forearms. He would be a pirate, a proper Redbeard. A smile covered Aisling's face at the thought of her mother being swept away by a strong pirate-like merchant who's very being intimidated crew and cabinet alike.

 _That is why mother cannot say_ , Aisling smiled as her hurried steps became a dance down the hall. _He will come back and take me on his ship and sail me all about the world. I shall teach him Chinese and he will bring me to the most magical of places_.

The image of her father docking in London, appearing at the Manchester Estate ready to take Aisling on a daring adventure occupied her thoughts through tea. She said nothing, trying to avoid the pitying glances from her aunt as she tried to think of what her father might be called, where he might be going. A distraction that comforted her as she tried to forget the words her mother said.

_Dying. Gone. Alone._

* * *

The words came back to haunt Aisling, however, as she lay in her bed, looking up at the ceiling later that evening. Thoughts of her father had left her head as sleep evaded her, her mind spinning now with what her mother had said to her.

It suddenly did not seem important when her father would come to get her or what he even looked like, because Mother would not be there.

 _Impossible! I can't believe she said to me that living was impossible!_ Aisling tossed under the sheets as she considered her mother's words. Nothing was impossible! Her mother expected her to come up with a list of impossibles before breakfast to complete throughout the day, or sometimes the week.

Once it took a whole year. That was when Aisling had been on a search to find the perfect teacup for her mother. Mother loved her teaware, treasuring each tin, saucer, cup, and kettle that came her way. She was always prompt for tea and kept an arrangement of flavors and kinds in her care. If there was teahouse to stop at when docked at one of the ports, Mother always brought Aisling in tow to discover new types and tastes. Aisling drank tea as readily as she drank water. She had loved it, even in her toddler days, when most young girls were becoming accustomed to the bitter drink beloved by the Chinese and English alike. She understood her mother's affection for the custom in her first days of remembering and wanted to grace her with the most beautiful of teacups.

It was in Peking where she found the proper cup; a white porcelain piece that was decorated with delicate blue paint. The scene depicted a warrior fighting off a dragon. Aisling thought of the tale of the Jabberwock as she beheld the cup, begging James to give her the proper money to purchase it for her mother. Mother's eyes had filled with tears when Aisling had presented it to her later that day when the two were sharing tea in the Captain's quarters. Mother had surprised Aisling with a smoky green tea that made her head spin with delight. Mother christened the cup with the new tea, giving her beloved chipped cup from England to Aisling. The cup was nothing special; a small white fine-bone china tea cup painted with small delicate pink roses. Aisling never understood why Mother loved the cup so fondly, but Mother had insisted that she had been given the cup by Aisling's father, a mysterious man from the world's end. Aisling cherished and kept the cup as her mother kept the one Aisling had given her.

Aisling rose from her bed to retrieve the item from her night table where she kept it, often watching it as she tried to drift off to sleep. Used to the rocking of the ocean's waves, Aisling had a hard time growing accustom to the steadiness of land; her first few weeks in England were fraught with long sleepless nights. The presence of the cup gave her some comfort, a familiar friend among the unknown.

Taking the cup in her hand, Aisling took hold of the dying candle beside her bed and lit a new one, replacing the shortened stub of the previous one with the brighter flame. She hurried to retrieve her journal, a present her mother had given her just shortly before falling ill. Aisling kept her thoughts and several sketches inside the leather-bound book, stashing the journal among her underclothes in the chest at the foot of her bed.

She hurried to grab a pencil, beginning to write out her thoughts.

**_Ways to make Mother better:_ **

**_1\. Give her green tea_ **

Aisling frowned, shaking her head as she crossed out the idea furiously. Green tea would not fix a case as serious as Mother's.

**_2\. Find a shaman and have her make a potion for mother_ **

Aisling sighed, shaking her head as she discarded this idea. She was too far from China to hope to find a medicine woman who could provide something for Mother to drink or eat. Besides, James had already tried to acquire several medicines for Mother in desperation to see her well.

Aisling sighed as she stared at the page and its two messily crossed out ideas. Her mind empty, she began to flip through the pages. Some pages were thoughts about her travels around China: places she liked, cities she thought about living in (or ransacking as a pirate), animals she wished to keep as pets. Other pages were littered with sketches, a hobby she had taken up recently. Many were memories from China, especially the most recent entries as Aisling was bound in England. But just as many were of her imaginings of Mother's friends from Underland. The Tweedles. The White Rabbit. The fanciful and delicate White Queen.

Most were of the Hatter, the kind and dear friend her mother spoke of often and with a wistful tone.

 _That's it!_ Aisling thought, her brain churning as she hurried to her page of ideas. She took her pencil in her hand, hurrying, her script messy, as she wrote.

**_3\. Ask the Mad Hatter to make Mother better_ **

Certainly he owed her mother the favor, seeing as Mother had gone to Underland to make _him_ better. Aisling bounced with excitement as she considered how she would ask the man she had heard of so frequently. Should she be polite and courteous, minding her manners? Oh, but he would want her to mean what she said, because meaning what you said and saying what you mean are very different. But should she say what she meant instead? Or should she just demand, yelling and hollering like a lunatic for him to listen.

As Aisling considered this, she realized there was another problem— how would she meet the Hatter? She had tried to climb through the looking glass last week; that was when Lady Ascot had found her precariously standing on the edge of the mantel, pressing her hands against the cold glass. The woman had screamed, hurrying forward to grab Aisling about her waist and pulled her down. The looking glass had not worked…

But Mother had several tales of falling down a rabbit hole. Aisling might not have a white rabbit to guide her, but Mother had been at the Ascots (it seemed to serve as a very popular place to put portals to magical worlds, especially for a house the held such unimaginative people). A run through the woods would led to something, especially if Aisling believed very hard.

A smile crossed Aisling's mouth as she pulled the cup close to her chest, her journal tucked into her side, as she settled under the covers. Satisfied with her plan, she drifted off to sleep, her dreams filled with tea tables and disappearing cats.

It would be a very long wait until Friday.

* * *

But Friday did come. Aisling did her best to remain very obedient during the morning. If she was good and listened to the governess, the woman would let she and Ida out during lunchtime to run about the grounds. Governess Ethel was keeping a close watch on Aisling, especially after her jaunt several days prior, and the girl knew it would be the only way she could escape into the woods.

Both she and Ida were in Ida's personal parlor, sitting on the floor with Ethel before them. The girls were practicing their cross-stitching as Ethel talked with them in French, quickly and fluidly. She drilled the girls on various topics, expecting sure and well pronounced answered in return. Ida, as usual, was excelling in all things proper and domestic, while Aisling was growing more frustrated with constant correction and interruption.

Ida was dressed as properly as she was mannered. The girl's strawberry blonde hair was pulled into a twist at the back of her head, several pieces framed her square face. Her blue eyes were wide and alert, concentrating intently on the words that came from the governess' mouth. She was dressed in a pretty royal purple frock with a white pinafore to complete her put together and clean look.

Aisling looked as harried as ever; her curly ginger hair a mane about her head, eternally unbrushed, with a black ribbon trying its best to pull the locks away from her long face; her hazel eyes rimmed with dark circles from sleepless nights of anticipation. She was wearing a blue frock with a white pinafore, jelly smeared over the white apron from that morning's breakfast. Her Nana had nearly ordered the carriage back to change the girl when she noticed that mess, but did not want to run late to such an important meeting. Aisling had escaped Nana's ire, though she was scolded several times for her fidgeting in the carriage and reminded that she must be on her best behavior.

"Your pronunciation, Ida, is _magnifique_ ," Ethel's voice was thick with accent. She turned her head to look at Aisling with a frown. "Miss Kingsleigh, however, you need to push some of your words into the back of your throat."

"It sounds as if I'm choking," Aisling wrapped her arms about her throat.

"There is no need to be _dramatique_ , Miss Kingsleigh." Ethel scolded.

" _Nǐ bùyào chǔn,"_ Aisling answered back.

" _Excusez-moi_ ," Ethel spoke over Aisling. " _Les bonnes dames parlent français_."

" _Les bonnes dames parlent français et parlent bien le français,_ " Ida said with an impeccable accent.

" _Désolé madame_ ," Aisling said, trying to remind herself that she was supposed to be behaving herself. " _Je vais essayer plus fort_."

" _Bien!_ " Ethel clapped her hands. "You are a clever girl, Aisling. I want to see you apply yourself a little more to your studies and a little less to your Oriental interests."

"Proper ladies know the decorum of Western courts," Ida scolded Aisling gently.

"And that is why my mother's company bought out your father's company and he's working for her as a clerk right now, is that right, Ida?" Aisling chided.

"Aisling!" Ethel's voice was shrill and tight. Aisling quailed as she realized she should have kept her mouth shut. "Proper ladies also show modesty and prudence. We do not shame others nor do we speak of business."

"Mr. Harcourt will teach me business! Mother insists he does!"

"And that is the greatest shame," Ethel sighed. "You will become a lady who speaks strange words, dresses in trousers, and can write a contract."

"But at least I can pour tea." Aisling grinned merrily.

"I suppose everyone has one saving grace." Ethel groaned. "How is your needlework coming along?"

Ida beamed as she held up a taut circle of cloth; on the white fabric was the start of the alphabet, A-L, with perfect letters and lines. Ethel nodded her head approvingly. "Beautiful, Miss Ascot. Your lines are impeccable and your stitching dainty and sure." The governess winced before turning her head toward Aisling who sat to her left. "And what of you, Miss Kingsleigh?"

Aisling held up her own cross-stitching. The letters were a little wobbly, but overall the needlework was fine and straight. Ethel's dark eyes widened as she beheld the work. "It's clear you haven't practiced," her fingertips ran over the thread, "but you surprisingly show natural talent."

Ida's draw dropped as her blue eyes beheld Aisling's work. "Aisling can pour _and_ cup of tea and stitch a good line?"

"That she can," Ethel nodded her head. "Though I can hardly believe it myself."

"Perfect work for a servant," Ida grinned.

"Excuse me?" Aisling turned her face to look at her contemporary.

"What do you suppose a bastard girl is supposed to do? Inherit and run a business, with no proper family or legal rights? A child of base honor and morality?" Ida's eyes were wide and innocent, a parrot repeating words she had heard whispered when all thought she was not listening.

"Ida!" Ethel scolded her. "Ladies do not use such language."

"What…what is a bastard?" Aisling's red brows crossed as she looked first at Ida and then at Ethel. The young girl next to her shrugged, demonstrating she did not really understand the cruelty she dealt. Ethel's chin bobbed, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, before she finally found words.

"Well…erm, Aisling…a…what Miss Ascot said was that," Ethel cleared her throat. " _Une bâtarde_ is a child whose parents are not properly married. Whose father has not appeared to identify himself."

"My father can't," Aisling said, trying to ignore the sting. She had heard the word before in all its spoken disgust, not truly knowing what it meant. "He is out sailing the Seven Seas as a pirate-merchant and he's going to appear and…"

Ida interrupted Aisling's explanation with a cackling laugh. "You're mad, Aisling! You're as mad as your mother is! You'll sail the seven seas and die just like she will."

The comment was the final jab and Aisling felt the air fly from her as she charged Ida. Ida let out a scream as Aisling grabbed for her perfectly coiffed hair, wildly ripping at its pins and braids. She then took to pulling at the pinafore, her hand slapping at Ida's face and chest as her rage burned.

"You take all of it back! You take back what you said about my mother! And my father! And you take back calling me a bastard!"

" _Filles_!" Ethel shrieked, grabbing her cheeks before flying into action. " _Les filles s'arrêtent!_ " But Aisling continued, ripping and pulling at Ida's hair and clothing. She delivered hits and blows. "Stop at once!" Ethel cried.

"What is going on?" A male voice cried above the screams and cries. A strong hand wrapped around Aisling's waist, pulling her away from the group. "Aisling, what is the meaning of this?"

Aisling turned to see that it was James Harcourt who had her about the middle. She stilled her legs and arms, once batting useless at the air, calming her shrieks as she turned her attention to the girl before her.

"She called me a bastard and she said my father is not a pirate-merchant and she said _my mother is going to die!_ " Aisling cried again, her limbs beginning to flail anew in anger.

"I see," James' low voice said. "Governess Ethel, I hope you don't mind if I have a small talk with Aisling."

"No, I understand," Ethel paled. "I think I had best have a talk with Miss Ascot, here, and make sure she is cleaned up before Lady Ascot sees her."

"I'll bring Aisling back after lunch, then." James placed Aisling on her feet, grabbing her tightly by her arm. "She will be much reformed by then." Ethel only responded by nodding her head.

James led Aisling out of the room by her arm, only letting go when she had been led away from Ida's parlor. "Now, Miss Kingsleigh, it seems your temper has gotten you into trouble again."

"But Ida said— " Aisling looked up into James' blue eyes.

"I am sorry about what Ida said," James knelt before her. "But you cannot hit and scream and kick because someone said something mean to you."

"She said such _horrid_ things, though." Aisling felt tears spring afresh in her eyes.

"I am so very sorry about all of that," James said, his plump lips turning into a frown. "What stories are you weaving, Miss Kingsleigh, about pirates and the like?"

"That is who my father is! A pirate-merchant sailing the seas and he is going to come back once I've made mother well again and he is going to take us sailing and we'll return to China and— "

"Whoa!" James' held up his hand, signaling Aisling's words to cease. "Aisling, your father is _not_ a pirate-merchant, and he's not going to come back." A look of concern crossed his face as he cocked his head. "And what is this about making your mother well again?"

"I'm going to ask her friends from the world's end for help."

James winced. "Aisling, you know those are just _stories_."

Aisling crossed her arms. "They are _true_ stories! I am going to find the looking glass world and I am going to make mother well! You will see!"

"Aisling…" James began.

"No!" She shouted, wrenching herself free from the hand that gripped her own. "I am going whether you believe me or not." She pivoted quickly on her heels, hurrying down the corridor.

"Aisling!" James stood, watching as she ran. "Aisling, where are you going?"

Aisling did not answer as she sprinted down the back hall and through the open doors that led into the garden. She heard James' voice calling her name, shouting with growing intensity. She knew if she stopped to answer any of his questions he might catch her and she'd have to wait longer to find the rabbit hole and Mother might be in greater trouble.

Hurrying along past the rose garden and then past the maze, Aisling made her way headlong toward the woods.

"Aisling! Where are you going? Stop!" James had sighted her. She dared to glance over his shoulder, seeing that he was hurrying after her.

That was when she saw the white flash dart past the corner of her vision. Aisling closed her eyes a moment, shaking her head, before looking again.

There it was. A flash that slowed.

A rabbit!

Aisling let out a cry of happiness as she shifted her footing to make a straight line for the creature. The small animal seemed to hesitate, his red eyes wide, before he began bounding away. Aisling hurried quickly on his heels.

He led her through a thick grove, past copse of trees, and finally to the base of a large dead oak. He disappeared around the corner. Aisling slowed herself, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The sound of twigs and branches breaking in the background alerted that she was being followed.

Rounding the width of the tree, Aisling found a large rabbit hole. A smile crossed her face as she knelt gently before it to peer over its lip.

It was wide and deep, seeming to go on for miles. Aisling leaned further, squinting to try to see if she could see the bottom.

Her hand slipped, her dress sliding over the edge of the grass.

And then she was falling.


	2. Search for the Mad Hatter

Aisling felt a second scream catch in her throat, but she violently swallowed it back, determined not to allow the fear to swell in her belly. She pinwheeled her arms violently, searching for something grab hold of. It only succeeded in sending her body spinning head over heel, her vision spinning with the increased speed and topsy-turvy nature of tumbling. She winced, a small yelp erupting from her lips as she hit a mattress hard, bouncing off indiscriminately into the air.

She continued to scramble for something to lay ahold of; a spinning globe, a lighted lamp, a piano singing chords just out of her reach. _This is an awfully long rabbit hole_ , she thought to herself morosely as she continued to struggle for purchase, finding nothing to break her fall.

But miraculously, she began to slow in her descent, the skirt of her dress billowing out like a parachute about her bloomers. The fabric was her saving grace as she made her way quickly, but not dangerously, toward what looked like stained glass. Aisling did not have much time to think about it before she shattered through, falling to a checkered patterned ground below with a resounding _unfh!_.

Sitting up cautiously, Aisling brushed her ginger hair away from her face, her large green eyes wide as she surveyed the small dome room about her. There were five curtains hung on rods about the room, covering what seemed to be the drab rusty colored paint. Gathering her legs beneath her, Aisling pushed herself to her feet to further investigate. Before she continued further, she checked her pinafore pocket, fearing she would find her mother's tea cup smashed from the descent and the fall to the ground. To her relief, her searching fingers found a fully intact cup.

She approached a maroon colored curtain first, pushing the heavy material along the rod to reveal that it was not wall that lay behind it, but a small door tucked into the pale crowning. Her brows knitted as she looked at the small portal curiously, chewing her lip thoughtfully as she reasoned what would use a door so little. She squatted, her fingertips wrapping about the small handle and giving it a pull. The small door creaked under her much stronger force, but held fast all the same, locked tightly.

Aisling stood erect once more, crossing the room hurriedly toward the navy curtain. Behind this one she found a shorter door, one that she could enter if she only squatted. Behind a mustard curtain was a large ornate white door with black filigree decorating its window panels. A forest green curtain hide a filled in fireplace, the mantel still present though the hole had been long closed over with brick. All the doors were locked and the wall showed no promise of being easily moved. With a sigh, Aisling placed her hands on her hips, looking about the room for another method of escape.

It was then that she noticed a round glass table in the middle of the room. A smile illuminated her freckled face as she approached the stand, noticing that a bottle and a key were both present on the translucent surface. She took both in hand, inspecting them with increasing fascination. Moving closer toward the table caused her to kick a small box at her feet; she took that, too, in hand, placing it beside the key and the bottle.

The bottle was much like the ones that held the medicines in the shops in Peking; tall and opaque. The liquid swirled ominously in its belly as Aisling twirled the bottle in her hand. A label around the neck of the bottle bore the words _Drink Me_ in posh script. Aisling wrinkled her nose as she pondered the mysteriously label. Her mother had assured her that some drinks were best not consumed without the proper knowledge of what they might do. Some potions might shrink her instead of filling her up. And if this were Wonderland, it would be best to treat this strange concoction as one would treat poison.

Placing the bottle back on the glass table, Aisling turned her attention to the small box. Opening the wooden cover she found a small cake with icing spelling out _Eat Me_. Much as her mother had warned her about drinking strange things in foreign lands, so she had warned her daughter about eating foods she had never seen before. Aisling continued to chew her lip as she looked over the small white frosted sweet, her fingers crumbling the frosting between the pads. _If drinks make me shrink, surely cakes must make me grow,_ she reasoned as she shut the top of the small trunk.

Next, she took the key in hand. She held the silver tool before her face as her emerald eyes swept over the length, her gaze puzzling over the teeth. Surely it would be too convenient for it to fit the large doors, so she would be best to fit in the small door, first.

She hurried across the room, kneeling before the small door tucked behind the maroon curtain. It took several tries to fit the key home in the lock, as the door and its lock was so small, but Aisling was able to slide it home, turning the handle hopefully. The door remained firmly locked, not giving way to the key. Sinking back on her haunches, Aisling let loose an exasperated sigh as she pondered over the door.

If the key did not fit this door, it would have to be another, she reasoned, standing to her feet. She tried the door behind the forest green curtain first, but it remained fast. With a crumbling hope, she went to the smaller door behind the navy blue curtain, holding her breath as she slipped the key home.

This time she was rewarded with the small clinking of tumblers moving, signaling that this was the right place for the small instrument in her hand. She quickly turned the knob, ducking low so that she could slip through the small frame and into the world beyond.

She blinked as she beheld a forest before her, lush and filled with the singing of birds, a happy place though it was shroud in a misty darkness. Aisling swallowed her fear again, stepping forward onto the green grass, her boot sinking into the earth. She swiveled her head, looking for the white rabbit that had led her here. She found nothing but the outline of more trees and bushes in the distance. Before her was a brown path, worn from the many travelers before.

"I suppose it would serve me best to not get lost in this strange land," Aisling reasoned as she stepped forward into the forest, her hand lingering on the frame of the door as she held onto the last sense of safety she knew. But she had been tossed into the headwinds before, thrown into strange smelling worlds filled with fast speaking tongues she did not understand; this would be nothing unknown. Letting go of the door she stepped forward onto the path.

Her steps were light as she continued forward, her head looking first to her left and then to her right as she took in her surroundings with fear-laced curiosity. She held her hands at her side balled into fists as she strained to listen for anything that might be taking the chance to sneak up on her unawares. It was then that she heard the sounding of shouting and roaring and whinnying in the distance. Hurrying forward, Aisling quickly made her way toward the sounds.

The sounds of battle led her to a small clearing in the distance where a crowd was gathered about a cloud of dust and wrestling hooves and paws. Aisling stepped close, reminded of the cock fights she had come upon in her days in China— aggressive and bloody shows of how aggressive a rooster could be. The men rivaled in the bird that could inflict the most damage, ripping out feathers, combs, and eyes. Aisling had hated them the moment she saw her first fight, and when her mother had found her watching on with shock, she had taken hold of her arm, pulling her away while scolding her for even giving any attention to such violence.

Aisling felt her stomach flop queasily as she approached the crowd, her hand reaching out to gently tap upon the elbow of a man that stood on the outskirts, his mouth in a grim frown as he watched on.

"Excuse me…" Aisling spoke gently, causing the man to jump. He turned his head and it was then that Aisling noticed his funny hat. It was in the shape of a castle parapet, similar to the shape of the top of a rook. His dark eyes widened as he looked down at her.

"Yes?"

"Sir," Aisling rolled up to her tiptoes to try to look over the mob before them. "I was wondering if you might be of some assistance."

"It depends," he crossed his arms as his brows lowered. "You seem like you're far from home, missy."

"I think I am," Aisling agreed. "Do you think you could tell me what is going on?"

"What? This?" The man looked back toward the center of the ring of people, his height allowing him to see the commotion at the center. "You must be far from home if you don't know this. Why, it's just the unicorn and the lion fighting again."

"Oh, my," Aisling frowned. "I do hope they aren't hurting each other too badly."

"Not too badly, no," the man cocked his head as he looked down at her. "You look oddly familiar, little one. What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," Aisling replied as she folded her arms over her chest. "But if you must know, my name is Aisling Kingsleigh."

The man's gaze looked up toward the sky in a gesture of thought. "Hmm, I don't know any Kingsleighs." He returned his attention to her once more. "How can I help you, then, Aisling?"

"Do you know the Mad Hatter?"

"Do I know him? No." The man shook his head as his mouth turned into a straight line.

"Oh, well— " Aisling made to turn about, trying to not feel defeated.

"Do I know _of_ him? Of course I do!"

Aisling turned, a fire burning in her eyes. "I _just_ asked you if you did and you near gave me a fright when you told me no!"

"No, lassie, you asked me if I knew him!" The man's laughter was raspy as he patted his stomach. "I do not know him, but I know where he is from."

"That's what I meant!"

"But you didn't say what you meant, you meant what you said!" The man responded. Aisling stomped her foot, crossing her arms over her chest. "Oh, do stop the pouting. It doesn't become a child as comely as you."

"Could you tell me where I might find the Mad Hatter?" Aisling hoped she was saying what she meant and not just meaning what she said.

"I would try Witzend." The man looked down at her with a grin.

Aisling looked about blankly before returning her gaze back to the rook-man. "And where would I find my way to Witzend."

"You are a stranger around these parts," the man said as he pointed toward the woods. "You will want to go right up the path toward the edge of the Forgotten Forest. Witzend is just east of the woods."

"Thank you," Aisling curtsied quickly, before hurrying back toward the path.

"Just be careful, missy!" The man coughed. Aisling turned, her brows knitting as she looked back at the rook-man. "They don't call it the Forgotten Forest for nothing. Why is it you think the unicorn and the lion always fight over the same thing time and again?"

Aisling shrugged, figuring that the man was making little sense again. She returned to the path wondering what the worst thing that could happen would be. She would need to wander north for a time and then she would certainly remember who she was looking for even if she had forgotten the directions.

She hurried along the path, unconcerned with the man's warning.

* * *

The forest before her seemed dark and Aisling found she couldn't remember entering this place. She had just been at the Ascot manor, had she not? Being taught lessons by that awful Governess Edith? Aisling shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts that swirled and tumbled about her brain. This must be the place behind the Ascot's estate, the place she had been told time and again to abandon.

Mother would be so cross with her for not listening. Aisling hoped she would allow her to sail to China with her again. Mother had threatened that if Aisling could not learn her proper lessons to please Nana than she would not be able to go on the next trip to Asia and she would be forced to spend an entire two years learning how to be a socially proper lady.

"What a stupid notion!" Aisling laughed, looking about her surrounding as she realized she entering a clearing. "Whoever heard of a pirate with good manners!"

The clearing was rather peculiar looking, no longer thick with tall trees, but instead filled with the largest mushrooms Aisling had ever seen. They were of a variety of colors, purple, blue, green, red, and all were spotted. Spinning about Aisling realized that she had left the tree-filled woods behind and had wandered into this giant fungi-infested version of a wood.

"You are a very strange pirate." A voice said from above. It was deep and filled with malaise. Taking several steps back away from the mushroom, Aisling looked up to see that it was a blue caterpillar set upon the cap of a brick-red mushroom, his beady black eyes watching her expectantly.

"Excuse me?" Aisling said as she looked up at him. "But who are you?"

"I should be asking you that, you stupid girl." The caterpillar held a small pipe in his fourth hand, lifting the hose to his mouth to inhale. He exhaled slowly, his mouth in a circular shape to create smoke rings that enveloped Aisling. Aisling coughed instinctively, waving her hand in her face to try to clear away the heavy scent of tobacco.

"I do hate the smell of hookah," she choked as she glared up at the insect above.

"I am growing rather impatient," the caterpillar ignored her complaints. "Who are you?"

"I…" the girl stopped midsentence, realizing she couldn't quite remember. "I'm not sure I remember."

The caterpillar hummed amusedly, "An unfortunate side effect of the forest, I'm afraid."

"Do you think you could tell me?" She looked up expectantly.

"Help you?"

"Yes! Please!" Aisling pleaded. "I feel as if there is something most important and pressing that I must be doing, but I can't even remember who I am."

"You do look uncannily familiar," the caterpillar said. "But I don't know a thing about you, you strange child, so I'm not sure how you expect me to provide you with what you are missing."

"Oh _please_ , Mr. Caterpillar."

"Absolem," the caterpillar interrupted her. "Absolem. I hate the name _Mr. Caterpillar_. Utterly undignified."

"I've heard that name before," Aisling paused with her finger on her lips. "But he was butterfly the last I had heard of him."

"And if it weren't for the cycle of reincarnation I might still be," he answered gruffly. "I don't see how you would know this, you stupid girl. You must be from the cities beyond. Marmoreal, perhaps, or maybe even Witzend…"

"Yes!" Aisling shouted, that name sounding so very familiar. "That is where I need to be! I must need to go to Witzend."

Absolem's eyes narrowed as he looked down at her, his stare full of suspicion. "Witzend, you say?"

"If you can't tell me who I am, I don't suppose you could tell me how to get there?"

"Continue north and then go east," the caterpillar said as he took another draw on his hookah. "You'll find the fog on your mind will be gone once you've stepped clear of this place."

"Thank you!" Aisling said with gratefulness. "I hope I can remember why it is I have come and what is so very important."

"Hmmm, yes," he hummed. "I don't suppose you've heard of a girl named Alice?"

"My name is Aisling!" The girl shouted. "Alice is the name of my mother."

"Very interesting, indeed." The caterpillar mused. "Hurry along, child. It seems you've remembered yourself. It'd be best for you to remember the way before you're lost again."

"Oh," Aisling's eyes widened as she realized she had indeed said her name. "I suppose I did. Well, then, thank you Mr. Absolem."

"Please, don't mention it." He replied. "And I am most sincere in saying that."

Aisling shook her head, setting off beneath the umbrella of the mushroom overhead and hurrying in the direction the curious caterpillar had sent her in.

This was place was very curious indeed!

* * *

Aisling blinked as she inclined her face toward the sky; the sun was at its apex and shone down brightly over the green fields rolling out before her like a verdant ocean. Her head, which was beginning to fill with utter nonsense once more, began to clear as she stepped onto a stony path outside the mushroom forest. Looking about to orient herself in this strange land once more, she stepped fully out from the shade of the overgrown fungi.

"My _mother!_ " She shouted as the thought hit her like a train. "How could I have forgotten about her?"

"It is entirely possible if you've just climbed through _that_ forest," a voice said from behind her. Aisling turned suddenly, finding that before her stood a white dormouse with a confused look upon her face and a teal tabby cat at her side. The feline's grin curled across his face as he watched Aisling with wide blue eyes.

"I believe someone has told me that," Aisling nodded, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to clear away the melting cobwebs.

"WhO are you?" The dormouse asked, her fists placed on her hips as she watched Aisling beneath crossed brows. "An' why are you comin' outta the forest?"

"I'm Aisling," the girl rocked on her heels, her hands tucking into the pockets of her pinafore. "Aisling Kingsleigh. And I'm in desperate need to see the Mad Hatter."

"You are, are you?" The mouse's caramel eyes swept Aisling over. "Do yeh think this is the girl Absolem was speaking of?" She turned to the cat, now, speaking as if the young girl was not there.

"Absolem!" Aisling shouted, the name sounding so very familiar. "I believe I met him in…in there," she pointed toward the thick grove of giant mushrooms.

"That would be where you would find him these days," the cat curled his tail about his body as he settled into the air as if laying down on an imaginary pillow.

"If that's the case, we're supposed to be getting you to Witzend." The dormouse cocked her head.

"What's your name?" Aisling asked.

"Mallymkun," the creature answered.

"Do some call you Mally?" Aisling bounced excitedly when the mouse nodded her triangular head. "Then I have heard much about you! You are the bravest mouse to have ever lived!"

"You've 'eard of me?" Mally placed a tented hand on her chest. "Where did you come from?"

"I tumbled down the rabbit hole." Aisling shrugged. "I've been trying the looking glass, but it has not allowed me to step through no matter how many times I press my hand to it."

"Is that so," Mally's head tilted to the cat as she looked out of the corner of her round eye. "I think you should be getting her to Witzend. I believe I need to find someone else."

The cat sighed as he unfolded his feet from beneath his body. He stood in the air, shaking his fur out as he let loose a large stretch. "I don't see why I have to bring her there; can't you just bring her along with you?"

"You know it wouldn't do any good." Mally hissed. "Besides, I think it would be better to break the information to him before he were to see it for himself."

"I do wish you'd stop talking about me as I stand here. Grown-ups do it all the time in my land and it's so awfully annoying." Aisling's green eyes narrowed at the cat and the mouse. "And _rude_."

"How very correct you are," the cat said, disappearing before Aisling's eyes. She blinked, her head darting from side to side in search of where the feline had gone off to. She jumped when she felt a weight settle about her neck like a scarf. Out of the corner of her eye she spied the striped teal fur of the cat; he had somehow gone from floating before her in the air to suddenly wrapped about her neck like living skins. "I do apologize for being inconsiderate."

"Are the two of you going to help me find the Hatter?"

"What are you in need of him for anyway?" Mally asked, her small mouth turned into a frown. "Were you sent down here to deliver a message?"

"No!" Aisling shook her head. "My mother is very, very sick. She doesn't know I've come, but, you see, she knew the Mad Hatter once. They were dear friends. She helped him when he was ill many years ago." Aisling wrung her hands before her as she tried to hold back tears, biting her lip fiercely as she wrestled for control. "Now my mother is sick and the doctor says she is going to…she's going to die!" Aisling pressed her fists to her eyes as her tears began to spring free, covering her round cheeks with wet grief. "I want to ask the Mad Hatter if he'd…if maybe he'd help her."

She peered beyond her hands to see that Mally and the cat stood before her now, sad-tinted shocked looks crossing their animal faces. Mally took a step forward, but paused to look over her shoulder back at the cat.

"I see," she said when she faced Aisling once again. "Chess, here, is going to take you to Witzend. There you will meet the Hatter."

"Oh, will you really, Chess?!" Aisling felt her heart lift as she realized that, indeed, there was hope she would be able to find something to help her mother.

"I can," the cat flicked his tail. "But I must warn you, little girl; the Hatter has not been himself in many turnings of the moon. I cannot guarantee he will want to see you or wish to help you."

"Oh, but he _must_!" Aisling insisted. "My mother speaks so fondly of him. He was someone she loved very dearly, I think."

Chess sighed heavily, his gaze lolling to where Mally stood with a frown on her face. The small dormouse nodded her head determinedly, her small paws tucking into the belt of her tunic. "I'll do my best, Aisling, to make sure you are heard."

"Thank you!" Aisling's hands clasped together. She watched as Mally turned, beginning to scamper on down the path the opposite way she and the cat had been going.

"That leaves you and me, I suppose." The cat answered. "It's a shame I cannot evaporate you."

"Evaporate?" Aisling shook her ginger curls. "What nonsense are you speaking of?"

"This!" The cat disappeared in a mist of blue once again. Aisling slowed in her search of the cat, scanning the horizon from her left shoulder to her right. But she saw no sign of him. "Over here!" His voice called.

She spun on her toes to face behind her where the cat was sitting on the bough of a branch that overhung on the road.

"That was quite a trick!" The girl giggled. "I wish there were cats like you in my world."

"That would make me rather normal, wouldn't it?" The cat asked before he disappeared again. She saw him reappear further down the path. "Are you coming?" He called.

Aisling hurried forward, the skirts of her dress whipping behind her as she followed the disappearing cat.

* * *

"So there are all sorts of cats that you'll find in China. They find them rather helpful creatures. Mother even let us bring one on a boat so that we could keep the mice away," Aisling's cheeks reddened as she thought back to the companion she had last seen Chess traveling with. "I mean, not that you would eat mice. That would be a rather horrid thing, I would think."

"I rather prefer a bit of jam and toast with my tea." Chess said from Aisling's shoulder where he had settled down for a ride.

"Cats that drink tea!" Aisling squealed in delight. "This place is far more wonderful than my mother even told me about! Perhaps even more exciting than Peking during festival season!"

"The land your mother comes from does sound like a rather…mundane place." The cat flicked his tail. "You'll want to hurry over this bridge, here."

Aisling did as she was told, taking a small wooden bridge over a chattering brook. She tried her best not to listen to the swirling voices beneath, always being scolded that eavesdropping was a bad habit. But her curious ears strained to hear the musical and high whispers that swirled over the rocks and carried small sticks and leaves. There were voices speaking about a new girl who tumbled down into a place called Underland. Something about how the Hatter was going to be rather cross. Another about the Champion. The gossip was too vague and scattered for Aisling to make much sense of it.

"Where are you bringing me once we've arrived at Witzend?" She asked as she continued down the dirt path.

"To a special shop," Chess sighed. "There are some people who will allow you to stay there until Tarrant arrives." Aisling halted in her steps, crossing her arms about her chest. "Why are you stopping? We're nearly there!"

"Are you telling me that the Mad Hatter is not at Witzend?"

"Not currently, no." Chess disappeared from her shoulder, taking to the air before the pouting young girl. "You are a dense child if you did not understand that Mally was off to fetch him."

"Why do you not take me to his tea party?" Aisling's hands curled into fists as she stomped her foot in rage.

"Because it's a mad place to be."

"I _know_ that," Aisling growled. "I wish to go among the mad people. They are the ones who are going to help me."

"You've had a very different tumble than your dear mother down that rabbit hole." Chess flicked his tail. He swiveled his head away from Aisling, his eyes narrowing as he peered out into the distance. "Speaking of rabbits, it seems McTwisp finally received the message."

"Message?"

"To come and fetch you." Chess smiled. "I am a very busy cat and have many things to attend to this afternoon. Besides," he licked his paw luxuriously, wiping lazily at his ear in a feline manner. "I have nearly lost my ears to all your chattering. You do show your parentage well."

"Excuse me?"

"McTwisp!" The cat cried, ignoring Aisling as a white rabbit in a dapper blue waistcoat hopped hurriedly into their midst. "I am very glad to see you."

"I was told you needed some assistance in helping a new guest— oh!" The rabbit stood on his hind legs, his hands folding before his chest limply. His nose was twitching quickly as his chest heaved in and out, gasping for air. "Are you…" the rabbit limped closer. "Are you the girl who followed me through the forest."

"And down the rabbit hole?" Aisling nodded her head. "I did. And then you left me! I had to wonder all the way through a forest until I came upon the cat and a dormouse."

"Oh, oh my." The rabbit sniffed.

"Is there something wrong, McTwisp?" The cat smiled coyly.

"I thought I was sent to bring someone else back." The creature said, standing before Aisling now. "I had been told that someone in Aboveland needed help; that I was to go and fetch the Champion and bring her back."

"It seems you've lost track of what our Champion looks like," the cat grinned. "Or, rather, you've got it right and wrong at the same time."

"Will you please tell me what you're speaking of? Who is this 'Champion' I keep hearing about?" Aisling was growing rather cross as others continued to speak of her as if she were not present.

"Alice," the rabbit breathed. "Alice is Underland's Champion."

"Underland? Alice?" Aisling's green eyes widened. "Alice as in _my_ mother? The slayer of the Jabberwocky?"

"Yes," the rabbit looked to Chess, his face growing paler if that were possible. "I think I need to hurry you along to Witzend."

"Have you heard yet from Mally?" Chess asked. "Do we know if she's convinced him to come out of the Tulgey?"

"Not yet," the rabbit shook his head. "But I have heard rumor in the breeze that Mirana herself may be going to the tables to convince the man to come out."

"Then it is serious, indeed," the cat nodded his head. "I will leave this young charge to you, then."

"And what is your name?" The rabbit acknowledged the girl standing impatiently before him.

"Aisling, Aisling Kingsleigh." Aisling watched as Chess disappeared from the tree bough. "The cat said that Witzend is not far from here."

"No, not far at all," the rabbit confirmed. "Come, follow me. Once we've stepped out from the grove you'll see the walls of the city."

Aisling hurried after the rabbit for the second time today, nearly tripping when the two emerged into another clearing which the white city was built upon. Massive cream colored brick walls outlined the horizon; only rooftops and the upper floors of a white castle peered over their impressive size. Aisling rubbed her eyes wondering if this was all a dream.

In her shock, she had slowed in her pursuit of the rabbit; he had already reached the gates of the city by the time she caught up to his quickly set pace. Heaving for air, Aisling wished to slow, groaning when the creature quickly turned to hurry up the path.

Aisling followed him through winding streets, dodging men and women bustling about the city. She did her best not to stare rudely when she first sighted a fish in a waistcoat, a monocle sitting before one of his beady eyes. After that she caught sight of monkeys dressed as chimney sweeps, a sheep sitting outside a shop with knitting needles in hand and a shawl wrapped about her wooly shoulders, and a flock of flamingos wearing neckties as they burst forth from a pub.

"What a strange place after all!" Aisling whispered to herself in glee.

She watched as the rabbit slowed down before her, coming to a stop before a small shop at the center of a quiet street. McTwisp turned slowly to face Aisling who was closing the distance between them, her steps reducing as she watched the rabbit look nervously at the door.

"This is where I am to bring you, to wait for the Hatter."

"A hat shop?" Aisling asked as she read the words on the worn teal sign that hung from a black placard stand. "I suppose that makes some sense."

McTwisp nodded his head curtly before taking several tentative hops up the few steps to rap on the wooden maroon door. Aisling tucked her hands into her pinafore again as she rocked on her heels, impatiently waiting for who would appear.

The door opened with a mighty bang, the sound of a woman's welcoming voice called out the rabbit's name. "Nivens McTwisp, it's been so long since we've seen ye!" The lilting voice exclaimed. Aisling watched from a distance as a red-haired woman stepped out onto the stoop, her long thin arms stretched wide as if to encourage an embrace from the much smaller rabbit. "Have you come to purchase a nice top hat for the proper occasion? You know the fifth anniversary of the Frabjous day is near upon us?"

"I'm afraid not," McTwisp glanced back to where Aisling stood, watching the exchange between the rabbit and the woman.

The woman looked up, her soft green eyes meeting Aisling's. "Why, who have you brought to visit us today, McTwisp?"

"This is…"

Aisling stepped toward the two, not wanting to be ignored. And if a grown-up introduced you to another grown-up it meant that you could be talked about even while you stood there. "My name is Aisling Kingsleigh, my lady." Aisling pressed her hands together as she bowed toward the woman. It caused her to burst out in a merry laugh.

"You've no need to bow to me, child. I'm not a lady." Aisling straightened quickly as the woman gestured to her outfit as if to prove so. She was wearing a lilac calico dress with a robin egg's blue apron tied about her waist and neck. Stains covered the apron and there were thick ribbons and measuring tape hung over the edges of its pockets. "Merely a simply working woman. You can call me Tyva."

"It's very nice to meet you, Tyva," Aisling smiled up warmly at the woman.

"I must be on my way to find Mirana," McTwisp said hurriedly, not waiting for Tyva to respond before taking off down the street.

"That rabbit is always in a hurry; you'll have to excuse him." Tyva explained as she reached out her hand to wrap about the back of Aisling. She gentle ushered the girl into the shop. "Since he's not going to explain why you're here, I suppose you'll be in charge of doing so."

"I much prefer it," Aisling answered. "Everyone has been talking over me since I've arrived in England and it seems to have only gotten worse since I've taken a tumble down the rabbit hole."

"Ah, so you're a traveler from afar?" Tyva smiled as she led Aisling through a crowded workshop.

Aisling looked about, taking in the sight of many extravagant hats in various styles. There were top hats and sun hats and porkpies and fedoras and fascinators and newsboys. Aisling was even pleased to find that several fezzes were on display, in various colors and decorations. The room smelled strongly of glue and black tea, and was warm from the steam that emanated from a small device on one of the desks. Ribbons and strings were hung up on the walls; one of the tables was set before several bolts of patterned fabrics, atop it sat a foot-pedal operated sewing machine and several large pairs of scissors.

"I have come from afar," Aisling responded as she continued to muse over the small shop. "Much further from England. A place called China. I was born on a ship in the Indian Ocean."

"I am afraid I've never heard of these places," Tyva flashed Aisling an apologetic smile. "But I am not much of an adventurer. I am sad to say that there were several years where I was not going much of anywhere."

"That's a pity; it's always better when one is able to travel." Aisling stopped before a handsome looking top hat that was the perfect size for a child. The hat was made from fuchsia felt, a black silk ribbon wrapped about its crown. Several decorative pins were tucked into the band and a flourish of blackbird and peacock feathers was sewn in to add more character. "This is a beautiful hat."

"Ah," Tyva bent over at her waist at Aisling's side to view the headpiece more closely. "That is one of the last pieces my son made before he went off on his own sort of journey."

"He is very talented."

"That he is," Tyva smiled. "I think this hat would look just perfect on you; would you be willing to try it on?"

"I wouldn't want to ruin something that is so precious to you." Aisling wrinkled her nose as she stepped away. After all; she wasn't too keen on having her mother's tea cup part from her fingers. She reached into her pocket to be assured the cup was still there. Miraculously the china had survived the fall and the wander through the forest.

"Nonsense," Tyva waved away Aisling's concern. "It would be my delight. I was only going to offer you a cup of tea, anyway, so I don't see there being much chance of you ruining it."

"That's very kind of you," Aisling held still as she watched Tyva take the hat gingerly in her hands, placing the head piece atop Aisling's red curls.

"See, it fits you perfectly." Tyva clapped her hands together in pride.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to stay for a cup of tea, though, Miss Tyva." Aisling's mouth turned into a wry frown as she began to apologize. "You see, I'm supposed to meet the Mad Hatter here, and Mally the dormouse has already gone on her way to fetch him, so I am sure it'll only be a matter of moments before he arrives."

"Oh, Aisling," Tyva's green eyes widened as she caught hold of the girl's arm. "Please, come into the kitchen."

"But I really must be on the lookout for the Mad Hatter…" Aisling insisted, hesitant to leave the workshop and thus the first room one walked into when entering the hat shop.

"Aisling," Tyva sank to her knees to better look into the girl's eyes. "Oh, Aisling," her hands wrapped around the Aisling's cheeks. "I can see him in you," she twirled her pointer finger in one of the curls of Aisling's hair. "I should have known the moment I saw you."

"Known what?" Aisling shook her head. "I don't understand."

"Aisling, dear," Tyva worried at the edges of Aisling's pinafore, smoothing down imaginary wrinkles. "Has your mother ever spoken of your father?"

"No," Aisling shook her head. "But that's why I want to make her better."

"Better?" Tyva's gaze flickered up to meet Aisling's worriedly. "What do you mean, better?"

"That's why I've come, that's why I need the Mad Hatter!" Aisling groaned. "My mother is very sick and she needs his help."

"That would explain Mirana," the woman muttered. "So you think that the Mad Hatter can make your mother well again? Is that it, child?" Tyva's voice was far too patronizing for Aisling's taste.

"Yes; Mother made him well again once. Now he needs to return the favor. He _owes_ her." Aisling answered. She watched as Tyva stood to her feet, her body shaking as her hand wrapped over her mouth.

"Oh, Time," the woman whispered. "None of this will put him into a good mood."

"Don't you see," Aisling stepped toward Tyva, trying to have her listen instead of turning away. "Once my mother is well again, then we can get onboard _The Wonder_ and go sailing and find my father."

"Your father?" Tyva turned. "Oh, child, please come and have a seat and a cup of tea."

"This is of the most urgent matter!" Aisling insisted.

"And so is this, Aisling Kingsleigh." Tyva's voice became tight and very strict.

The sound of a bell chiming lightly filled the growing quiet in the room and both women turned to see who was entering. Aisling hoped beyond hope that it was the Mad Hatter. Instead, it was a tall gruff looking man with a poorly kept red mustache and tired looking blue eyes.

"Zanik," Tyva stepped toward the man as he closed the door behind him. He pulled his dusty brown jacket from his body, hanging it on a rack that was placed by the side of the door. "Have you gone to see him?"

"And it's of no use," the man shook his head. "He's convinced. It seems there is a host of people wishing to bid for his attentions. I passed the White Queen on the way, and Mally was there, speaking to him about Alice. The last subject she should be speaking to him of. That girl is the whole reason we're in this mess."

"Zanik!" Tyva hissed. She stood behind Aisling, one hand resting on the girl's shoulder, the other placed across her chest. "I think we should speak well of the girl."

"Why is that?" Zanik turned, his blue eyes cross as he looked at his wife. Then his gaze traveled down to what stood before her. "Who is this?"

"This is Aisling." Tyva sighed. "I…she's come from Aboveland."

"Has she?" Zanik groaned. "Not another one. McTwisp should be more careful. Bringing all these troublesome humans from above down into Underland to ruin everything. Our son was fine until he started messing with the mirror that Mirana had given him. And now we have a boy that won't return home."

"Zanik," Tyva spoke over her husband's ranting. "Aisling has come from Aboveland with a very important mission. Her mother is very sick."

"That's too bad," Zanik offered the girl a forced apologetic frown. "I am sorry to hear, but I am not sure how we can help…"

"I need to see the Mad Hatter." Aisling pulled from Tyva's motherly grip.

"You won't find him here!" Zanik laughed. "He hasn't left that table in years."

"But McTwisp said he was going to come here, he was going to help me." Aisling insisted, her face growing hard with determination.

"I am not sure what would stir him to do that, not unless you brought Alice herself here." He shook his head.

"Zanik," Tyva reached out to grab her husband by his arm. "I think something more…shocking has come in her stead."

"What do you mean?" Zanik looked to his wife, his brows crossed in confusion. Tyva inclined her chin toward Aisling again, the girl standing before him with a cross look about her pink mouth and her arms folded over her chest. "Oh," Zanik said with increasing realization. "Oh, oh yes…this does change things."

"I think Aisling has come to not only help her mother, Alice, who is very sick," Tyva said gently. "But I wouldn't be surprised to find that Time sent her to find her father."

"My father? You know who he is? How?" Aisling demanded.

"He is here, in Underland." Tyva said.

"Where?" Aisling demanded.

"Child, do you not know?" Zanik shook his head in disbelief. "Has no one given you grace and told you?"

"I do not!" Aisling felt her stomach roll with frustration. "I have come to find my mother medicine to make her well. I have come to ask the Mad Hatter for help. I did not know my father was here. My mother has told me nothing."

"We shouldn't tell her," Tyva whispered to Zanik, but the man shook his head in disagreement.

"I don't think keeping it from her would do her a lick of good, not anymore. Besides, if her mission is to help her mother and she needs that stubborn boy's help, it might do her good."

"I was told to keep her here until he arrived." Tyva insisted, fighting her husband.

"Tell her all the same, Tyva!" Zanik said in exasperation. "If you don't, I will. There is little sense hiding secrets."

"Please tell me!" Aisling begged.

"Aisling," Zanik said as he knelt before her. "I am sorry I am the one to tell you, but…I think my son is your father."

"Your son?" Aisling shook her ginger locks in confusion. "Then where is he? He can come with me to see the Hatter and the go back with us to my mother to make her well again."

"My child, my dear," Zanik sighed, his head hanging. "My son _is_ the Mad Hatter."

"What?" Aisling froze, her green eyes meeting the man's in disbelief. "I…I…"

Without saying anything more, Aisling pushed past the man and then opened the door. She heard Tyva calling for her as she bolted down the steps, but she didn't bother to look back. She hoped she could remember her way back to the gates of Witzend.

If she had listened to anything properly today, she would need to make her way to the Tulgey Woods.

To the mad tea party where the Mad Hatter lived.

 _My father_ , the thought tumbled over and over again through her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all that kudo'd this story. It's much appreciated!   
> I hope you are enjoying this so far! If you have an suggestions or predictions, please leave a comment, I'd love to hear both! 
> 
> Keep an eye out for an update on MSOL 3 this week and an update on this story next!   
> Fairfarren,  
> Lydia


	3. Lapsang Souchong and Darjeeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And now enters a very sad Hatter...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N PII: Thank you so much for the kind words, everyone. I have enjoyed writing such an angsty fict for this fandom, especially on a topic that I haven't seen done as thoroughly. I hope you don't mind the wild ride!
> 
> As always, favorite/kudo, and, if you're able, reviews are always welcomed!
> 
> Fairfarren,
> 
> Lydia

Tarrant sat in his usual chair, presiding over the tea table where he had once been bound by the curse of Time. In theory, he was able to come and go as he pleased, but still he found himself fixed to the table never to leave. Despite his ability to walk away from the madness, he found himself sharing tea time every hour of the day with Thackery, his friend eternally fastened to his side.

One of the few loyal beings he knew.

It hadn't been this way forever. There had been days, years before, when Tarrant was inclined to come and go from the table as he pleased. He would spend some of his tea-time in the kitchens of his parents in Witzend, relishing in the moments they were trying to make up after decades of separation. He would laugh over memories revisited, when he and his siblings were growing up together in the fields outside the walled city and the halls of the castle. All the funny pranks played on one another, the snowball fights that had always been instigated by Tarrant himself. Those afternoons he spent laughing with his mother, father, Bim, Bumaig, Poomally, Paloo, and Pimlick, until his stomach ached and his sides stitched and he found his head spinning from lack of air.

His family also shared what it had been like living in the ant farm where Iracebeth had stowed them away for years. Those stories were filled with tears and longing; longing for the years that had been lost and the pain that Tarrant had been forced to suffer unduly. Yes, he had lost most of the members of his clan when Iracebeth's Jabberwocky had descended upon their All Hat's Day celebration, but he had not lost everyone. There was still hope. Despite the desire to restore all that had been lost, the Hightopps understood that the only thing that could be controlled was what was to be done with the future, with the Time given them.

Tarrant had once made a vow that he was not going to take them for granted for one moment. He was going to treasure every moment he had left in his pocket watch hanging in Time's grand hall.

But then Mirana gave him that bloody looking glass. That had changed everything for him. Had reminded him of a loss that burned a little more freshly, ached more deeply, than even the loss of his family.

Tarrant squeezed his eyes closed as he pushed that thought from his mind not wanting to revisit a thought that made his eyes burn with madness.

"What do you think we should brew for the afternoon, Thack, dear friend?" Tarrant lisped as he took hold of the teapot in his hand. "We have some musky Darjeeling left, and the strawberry flavored tea that Mally fetched for us last week. Or perhaps we could have some white tea laced with rose. Or maybe even lapsang souchong." He winced at the foreign sounding tea. "No, no. Lapsang will never do, will it? It's nasty stuff! Filthy stuff! We shouldn't defile our senses with such revolting _shukm_." He swore.

"Nasty stuff! Repulsive stuff!" Thackery mimicked gleefully.

"Indeed it is!" Tarrant sang in agreement. "Let us then have some splendid Darjeeling sweetened with sugar cubes and splashed with milk and we can forget about the whole business about lapsang souchong!"

"Yes, yes!" Thackery smacked the table hard with his paw, clattering the silverware on the surface with the force.

"I shall go and fetch us some hot water, then, and be back to brew us a beautiful cup of tea. And we can sing another round of 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Bat', if we can think of some more to say about the subject." His signature wide smile crossed his mouth as he stood from the table.

Tarrant had found that because Time now operated as He should in the grove in the midst of the Tulgey Wood that he was no longer able to sleep as he as once was, curling his chin into his chest and closing his eyes and allowing his mind to wander.

Not that he wanted it to. If he were to let it wander while he slept, he would find those gardens, heady with the scent of honeysuckle and cherry blossoms, but empty.

Empty.

Empty.

"Empty! Empty! Always empty!" Tarrant shouted. "Like that egg that sat on the wall! Who cares for empty?!"

Thackery said nothing as Tarrant shouted nonsense at the top of his lungs, his mind spinning with the thought of the empty garden with its lush smells and its soothing waters. A place he had once known. Before Mirana had given him that horrid gift…

"As I fetch the water, Thack, I shall think of things that start with the letter L," Tarrant shouted as he approached the windmill behind the house. "Lace and loops and length and ladies, but never looking glasses! Never, _never_ looking glasses!" Tarrant laughed madly as he ascended the steps of the dilapidated windmill that had been transformed into a crude house which Tarrant used to lie dormant during the night. Never sleeping. Not truly. Sleeping meant entering the palace of dreams. He had cultivated some parts of the gardens of memories. But the palace had become sacred, had become a place he had once longed to enter each evening in order to see her.

He slammed his eyelids shut, pushing away the thoughts and the hopes that were welling in his heart and beginning to seep out of his eyes. There was no use thinking of _her_. Even if he did close his eyes this evening she wouldn't be there. She had left that palace years ago, had left him after that moment and never looked back.

After several weeks of waiting and wandering and wishing he decided he would not, either.

Tarrant hurried to the kitchen to boil some water on the stove that he kept stoked throughout the day with his constant need for hot liquid for the kettle. He filled the kettle with water from the basin (it was running low, he should go to the steam soon and fill it) and placed the kettle on the top of the stove (he noticed the wood pile was low, too; he would need to fetch more if he wanted to the fire to continue to burn).

He wandered about the house with impatience as he waited for the water to heat and the kettle to call him back to the kitchen with its siren song of readiness. He passed through the halls, looking at the bare walls that he never bothered to decorate. This was not a home. He had lost his home years ago. This was a house with walls that would keep the torrential rain out and would insulate him on the coldest of nights when the snow was fierce and the wind howled with the rage he felt inside. Walls of wood and roof of bricks and tiles and nothing more.

He entered his room, wondering if he should change his cravat while he was here. He had not switched out the kaleidoscope-polka-dotted black neckpiece in months. He had worn his tartan patterned when his mother had visited last fall and he sported his red and black striped ascot all of last summer. Looking up, Tarrant winced as he beheld himself in the shattered looking glass in the corner of his room.

Perhaps he never changed what he wore because he despised looking in this when he needed to try something new. He understood how these clothes fit best. His lilac colored shirt and his green patterned waist coat, his pinstriped black trousers, and his trusty worn brown coat. He had even taken to wearing his spool covered bandoleer, stuffing his pockets with his crimson handkerchief and lengths of ribbons and fabrics.

And his hat. The hat he had not dared to remove from his head aside from sleeping and the need to wash his wild red hair from Time to Time. He touched the brim of the hat affectionately, as if to be sure that the accessory was where it was supposed to be, where it always was.

Tarrant dared himself to look once more at himself in the looking glass, to see how he appeared to the outside world. His shattered reflection revealed a man who had become more gaunt, his dulled green eyes, brimming with an orange hue, were darker due to lack of sleep. He was no longer the vibrant Hatter that had amused the citizens of the court, had brought joy to Mirana, had pleased the members of his family. He couldn't remember who that man was. All he could remember was years of waiting and then more years of disappointment.

That was what he had become. A man waiting on something, hoping for someone. And when it seemed that his hope had come to fruition, he was struck by disappointment elsewhere.

And this bloody looking glass was of no further help.

"I should remove it one of these days. Pick it up by its stand and toss it out the window. It would serve its purpose better if it were dashed into a million pieces on the ground." Tarrant decided, and began to make his way to destroy the rest of the looking glass.

The singing of the kettle stopped him.

"Fine, fine. Right, I'm coming!" He called to the kettle. "I suppose you will have to wait, but you shall meet your end." He pointed at the mirror that sat dejected and shattered in the corner of his temporary bedroom.

Tarrant returned to the kitchen, removing the kettle from the top of the stove and filling a tea ball with heaping scoops of Darjeeling. Placing the ball in the pot, he added the water from the kettle, watching as the leaves of the tea began to stain the clear liquid an amber tinted black.

He remembered once when he had been instructed to watch a special type of tea that blossomed from a flower sitting at the bottom of the pot. He had been mesmerized by the beauty blooming in the teapot as well as the beauty that sat before him, watching his wonder with amusement and delight.

Tarrant shook his head, pushing the memory from his mind as he took the pot in hand. The porcelain burned through his plaid fingerless gloves, but he ignored the pain as he left the kitchen to return to the table to present Thackery with a fresh pot of tea.

Of course, he would need to call for clean cups when he sat down. It would never due to have fresh tea in dirty cups…

Tarrant arrived at the table to find that it was no longer Thackery that sat in the lopsided and peeling chairs. Instead, a beautiful woman sat beside Mally's chair, her long white hair tumbling over her shoulders as she nursed a teacup between her palms.

"Tarrant," Mirana said, a smile crossing her dark lips.

"Mirana," Tarrant paused to glare at the queen before he placed the tea pot before Thackery. "I've made some fresh Darjeeling. Give it a moment to fully steep before you have it. It never does one well to have weak tea." He cleared his throat as he continued to address the March Hare. "I see that we also have an unwelcomed visitor to the table."

"Tarrant Hightopp!" Mirana's melodious voice was filled with uncharacteristic indignation. "I am Queen of Underland; I am permitted wherever I please to go."

"Pardon me," Tarrant anchored himself on the table by his hand as he leaned over to glare at the woman with amber eyes. "But this is the realm of Tea. I am the King of Tea. You are a commoner here, a mere peasant. I make the rules. And do you know what I declare?"

Mirana's dark eyes narrowed at him, her dark lips twisting into a scowl as he lorded over her.

"I declare it is Time for CLEAN CUP!" He bellowed, startling the queen who knocked her cup from its saucer. He shoved her from her seat as she tried to place the cup back. She stumbled to her feet, her arms crossing over her body as Tarrant took her place. Thackery giggled as he took Tarrant's place at the head of the table.

"Honestly, Tarrant," Mirana shook her head. "What has come over you?"

"Haven't you heard, Mirana?" Tarrant looked to the queen with narrowed eyes. "I'm Mad. The _Mad_ Hatter is what they call me, after all."

"Tarrant," Mirana sighed, conceding to taking the seat next to him in charitable humility. "I want to talk to you."

"Then talk! Talk, talk, talk all you like!" Tarrant answered her as he took the tea pot by the hand, discarding the ball of tea behind him on the ground before pouring himself a cup of steaming black tea.

"Tarrant," Mirana laid a hand on his arm. "I don't want to just talk. I want you to _listen_."

"Yes, yes, fine." Tarrant turned to face her in a mocking manner. Mirana frowned, but she shook her head and cleared her throat all the same.

"I understand that events have not played out the way you wished them to," Mirana said, her gaze falling to Tarrant's stained and scarred hands. "But you have to understand, Tarrant, that your friends all want you back. We miss you. Especially your family. They have been waiting so long to be reunited with you."

"They can come here." Tarrant gestured to the many empty chairs. "As you can see, today the tables are vacant, there is room at this table."

"Tarrant," Mirana shook her head, her eyebrows depressing worry as she searched his face. "The last time your mother came here she returned to her house in tears. You are not the son she remembers, the Hatter I know. Perhaps if you left for a bit, you returned to Witzend just for a few days…"

"You think I'll return to normal? You think that everything that has happened will just fall away?" Tarrant felt the rage building in his belly again. "You think that events have not played in my favor? You have pity for me, how? Your sister was returned to you, was she not? She has returned to serve as your hand. And I have heard whispers that perhaps you have found someone who has caught your eye. A powerful being, if I'm not mistaken." Tarrant cocked his eyebrow incredulously as he glared at her. "But for me? My family has returned, yes, but I have lost a piece of me that I did not realize I had even let go of. How am I supposed to return and laugh and sing and work and create," he held up his hands, empty and gnarled, as if to show he had lost even his talent at his trade, "when I am missing a part of me I have been trying to get back for years?"

"Tarrant— I…" Mirana's mouth hung open, her dark lips wobbling as she searched for words to say.

"Scones! And crumpets! And tea cakes! And ladyfingers!" Thackery shouted as he took some sweets up in his paws, shoving the food into his mouth hurriedly.

"Yes, Thackery, I do believe it's Time we focused on eating and less on the problem that has put herself at our table."

"Tarrant," Mirana shook her head.

"I've heard my name quite enough today," Tarrant bore his teeth in a grimace. "Now, if you would mind removing yourself from my realm and returning to yours…"

"Tarrant!" The sound of Mally's voice ringing out from the surrounding woods caused Tarrant to wince.

Mirana shifted in her seat to look back at Mally who was bursting over the small hill, running fast even for the ever-energetic dormouse.

"Clean cup!" Tarrant bellowed over the mouse shouting his name. Thackery hurried back to his seat, taking hold of stack of biscuits he had precariously built that morning like a wall of sweets. Tarrant reclaimed his place at the head of the table, taking his cup of tea with him. It was a clear violation of the rules, but he prided himself with being King of the Tea Tables, as he had told Mirana, which meant that he could follow and break whatever rules he deemed necessary.

Tarrant took a noisy sip of his tea as he waited with a cocked eyebrow for Mally to get on with her point of business.

"Tarr— Oh, your Majesty!" Mally pinked as she took in the sight of Mirana sitting at the tea table. She was a bit of an odd sight, what with her stark white crinolines and skirts and bodice and gloves and lacey choker, among the chaos and mess of the tea table before her. "I did not realize you were here."

"It is probably a waste of Time," Mirana sighed as she stood, brushing her skirts out before her. "I was hoping to convince our stubbornly morose friend to come out of his little kingdom to rejoin the rest of Underland. See what changes have occurred in his self-inflicted exile."

"Actually, it is probably good that you are here, Mirana." Mally said between gasps for air.

"Oh?" Mirana looked back to Tarrant with an inquisitive raised brow. Tarrant offered her a shrug, indicating he had no idea what Mally was going to present to him. He hadn't seen the dormouse in several days; she was far more inclined to leave the table than he and Thackery were. But she always had been. That was the whole reason she had found Alice before Alice had found him when she returned to Underland in her right, proper Alice form.

Or near enough to it, anyways.

"What is it, Mally?" Mirana asked with her own brand of growing impatience, her hands tangling in the folds of her dress as she tried to remain appearing diplomatic and steady, though Tarrant assumed she was burning to know what information Mally was bringing to the pair of them.

"I think you both should sit down," Mally said as she scurried to her seat between the two of them. She placed herself atop her stack of books, sprawling out as she slowed her breathing.

"It can't be that bad, can it?" Mirana asked, growing concern evident in her voice.

"Someone has followed McTwisp down the rabbit hole." Mally began.

Tarrant felt his heart begin to beat rapidly in his chest, his brows lifting from their usually depressed scowl in the slightest of hopes that perhaps it was a precocious blonde woman who finally had the sense to return home. To return to him. He dared not let that hope show, however, because it would only serve to encourage Mally and Mirana; besides, it could very well not be Alice. McTwisp had made costly mistakes in the past.

"Oh?" Mirana glanced back to Tarrant with raised brows, her dark mouth twisting into a wry smile as she returned her attention back to the panting dormouse. "Do you know who it is?"

"A young girl who calls herself Aisling," Mally answered.

"What a peculiar name," Mirana mused, "Ash-ling?" She sounded it out as she tapped her chin thoughtfully.

Tarrant had heard the name before, deep in his family's history. He knew exactly what it meant, too. "Dream…or vision." He spoke up. Mirana turned to him with wide brown eyes and even Mally paused in her storytelling to give Tarrant a shocked glance.

"Right." Mally nodded her small head curtly. "Well, she's tumbled down the rabbit hole with less than ideal news."

"And what could that be? And how would that affect us? I don't think I've ever met this girl before." Mirana shook her head.

"No, I don't think anyone has," Mally looked pointedly at Tarrant at her side. The Hatter shot her a displeased frown. "It turns out she knows a dear friend of ours, however, and that friend is deeply sick."

"Alice?" Tarrant leaned forward, cursing himself inwardly for not being able to contain himself. He had always tried to contain his emotions when it came to the Champion he had discovered deep affections for, but he had always proved himself a fool when it came to matters of the blonde haired, murky green eyed muchy woman.

"Yes," Mally answered with a sad nod this time. "It seems that Alice has grown very sick in her world and she is expected to die."

"Die?" Mirana gasped, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth as she tried unsuccessfully to hide her grieved shock.

"Because Alice helped Tarrant when he was sick and she has heard all about this, this little girl was wondering if perhaps we might be able to do something to save Alice." Mally turned to Mirana. "I know she is looking for Tarrant to ask him, but I think you might be of more assistance to her, your Majesty."

Mirana stood frozen for a few breaths before she lowered her hand slowly. She seemed to grab ahold of her thoughts when she finally stood, lightning fast, to her feet. She fisted her skirts in hand as she nodded at the dormouse determinedly. "Yes, certainly. I am sure there is some kind of potion I can make for Alice that would make her well again."

"Why should we?" Tarrant interrupted the queen, who was beginning to gather herself to return to Marmoreal in search of potions and pills to make the twice-Champion well again.

"What?" Mirana froze a second time, her brown eyes alighting on Tarrant with confusion.

"Why should we?" Tarrant stood. "Alice left Underland. She could have stayed here, but instead she chose to return to the world she came from. Wouldn't it be unfair interference for us to stop the course of Time in her world?"

"Tarrant," Mirana shook her head, "what has come over you? Alice fell down the rabbit hole so that she could save us. She took the risk when it was none of her business. She saved us; it's only right that we do the same for her."

Tarrant's insides rolled as he knew she was right, but he couldn't help but fight the bitterness that coated the taste of his tongue. "I just thought I'd make sure you understood the risks, Mirana." Tarrant answered, settling into his seat, pressing his back against the large wingback chair.

"There's more," Mally looked to Tarrant this time, her amber eyes watching her friend with a tinged sadness.

"What more bad news could you bear, Mally?" Tarrant shot his friend a sharp glance.

Mally wrung her paws as she looked from Tarrant to Mirana and then back again. "You must not be angry, Tarrant, and you must be patient."

Tarrant felt his eyes flash amber at his dormouse companion as he impatiently waited for her to tell him something that would leave him folding over on himself internally, fighting away more tears at night.

"This girl knows Alice because…." Mally's glance shifted to Mirana nervously.

"Go ahead, Mally. It's best you tell us now." Mirana's gaze was dark with a warning to Tarrant to control himself.

Mally let loose a big sigh before she nodded her head. "Yes, I know, it probably is better that you know." Her gaze turned back to Tarrant.

He suddenly knew. He didn't want her to say the words out-loud because he knew that would make them real, but he fought the efforts to block off his ears.

"Aisling is coming because she is Alice's daughter." Mally said with a heavy sigh.

Tarrant did not look at Mally, but stared at the tea cup sitting before him filled with the increasingly tepid Darjeeling. He could hear Mirana gasp, an inhale that conveyed both disbelief and a slight tinge of joy.

 _What joy could there be?_ Tarrant closed his eyes and his world began to distort, pulling and pushing, colors beginning to blur together as he felt his chest compressing with the information. _She has left Underland and completely forgotten about us. She has moved on, found a new life. Perhaps it would be better if she did not live, if she slipped into the realm of stopped clocks. She would be there with her father. She would be happy._

Tarrant felt a stab of guilt in his belly for thinking such things. He was only wishing this upon her because he was angry with her. It wasn't so much that she had left Underland behind, but that she had left him.

Especially after the last time.

He could still smell her, thick with the heady smell of tuberose and salt and ink and womanhood. Her skin was soft to his touch, a special velvety silk he could never fully satisfy himself with touching long enough. Her kiss had been the best part as her limbs pressed against his; warm and sweet, like mango tea and sweet biscuits. He had loved the taste of her as much as he had loved the feel and the touch and the smell.

That night he had lost everything and nothing. Only to lose her all over again.

Tarrant closed his eyes as he shook his head. How could she move on after that? Had he meant nothing to her? Had she not understood how very much he had loved her? How much he was willing to give up for her?

He had waited for her. Waited for her to slip through the other looking glass or to fall down the rabbit hole after McTwisp. Instead she had sent her daughter down after him instead.

He did not want to think about what she might look like. Would she be blonde like Alice? Would she have sparkling blue eyes? Would she have dark features? What would her father look like? Could he be that James fellow who had joined alongside Alice and her mother on their venture to become tradeswomen? Had it been a man she met at one of the ports? Could it have been one of the foreigners she was increasingly enchanted and inspired by?

"Tarrant?" Mirana's voice, distant and muffled, called to him. He felt a warmth wrap about his wrist as he sank deeper into his thoughts. "Tarrant, please! Listen!"

Tarrant opened his eyes, pulling himself from his memories and thoughts and ponderings. He blinked away the rage that had begun to build, trying to quell the orange tinge of his gaze that would give him away so easily.

"Did you hear what Mally said to you?" Mirana asked. Tarrant looked over to his friend who stood on her tip-claws, her head cocked as she looked at him with concern.

"Yes, yes I did. I am sorry," Tarrant shook his head, his voice tight as she adjusted himself to sit upright in his seat. "Where is she?"

Mally's mouth was tight as she looked over to her friend, her eyes apologizing for something. _She must have said something truly dreadful; perhaps it was about this girl having more siblings that rely on Alice for protection and comfort. Maybe it was about how heartbroken her father is. He is probably crying himself to sleep over the aspect of losing Alice._

Tarrant knew he did so nearly every night before falling dormant. A small part of him began to break off and sink into his bowels at the thought of Alice truly being gone forever. It was true that she had not returned to him, but she would never be able to if she were no longer living.

Another part of him was crushed by the thought that another had known Alice as thoroughly as he had been privileged to. Knew all of her hopes, all of her fears, understood her dreams. _I hope he is able to appreciate her muchiness the way he should_ , Tarrant mourned.

"I had Chess bring her to your parents' house." Mally replied. "I told her that I would go and fetch you, that you would come and help her. I figured it would buy Mirana some Time to make something for the girl to bring back and would give you a moment to fix yourself, Tarrant."

"That was a wise decision, Mally." Mirana nodded her head in approval. "I will go now and be quick about making a potion." She turned her attention to the milliner at her side. "I am sure you will get there before I have had the chance to finish whatever Alice will need. Please bring her to Marmoreal once you've gone and fetched her from your parents— "

"No." Tarrant shook his head.

"But Tarrant—, " Mally looked at him with wide eyes.

"No, I am not going to fetch her from my parents' home. My mother will think falsely that I've come to return. Besides," Tarrant crossed his hands over his chest as he sunk further into his chair. "You are the one making the potion for her, Mirana, not me. You should be the one who gives it to her. She doesn't need me at all."

"But she's been looking for you," Mirana shook her head. "If she is Alice's child, she is not going to give up the pursuit of you so easily. And it would be bad for her to come back to this grove and see…your realm." Mirana looked about the place disapprovingly."

"What's wrong with it?" Tarrant growled as he set his hands down on the table with a bang. The sound and movement startled Thackery who had dozed off to sleep due to the lack of partying at the table. "It's the same as it has always been."

"Except it's filled with despair and sadness and tears!" Mirana shook her head. "Tarrant, go and fetch her and bring her back to Marmoreal. Please." She reached down the table to place a hand over Tarrant's. "I know you still care deeply for Alice; please go and help her daughter for her, Alice. Not for anyone else."

"No," Tarrant pulled his hand away from Mirana with the sharp shake of his head. "I'm not going to do anyone any favors." Tarrant looked pointed at Mirana. "You go and save Alice. And you," his dark gaze turned to Mally now, "go and tell that girl that the Mad Hatter is far too busy and she'd best ask the queen for help and be on her way."

"Tarrant— " Mally shook her head.

"She doesn't need me, Mally. She has plenty of help elsewhere." Tarrant shook his head.

"But Tarrant, she _does_." Mally insisted.

"Go!" Tarrant shouted, standing as his eyes burned yellow. "Go and leave this place! Now! The both of you!"

Mally cowered under Tarrant's anger, but she seemed determined to stay all the same. Tarrant continued to glare down on the dormouse at his side.

"Come, Mally," Mirana said to the creature, standing once more. "Let us leave Tarrant to himself. Perhaps with all the space to think he'll realize his own _slurvishness_." Mirana sneered at him. Tarrant waved her away. "Come, Thackery," she called the March Hare. "I have needs for you in my kitchens."

"Cooking!" Thackery bounced along eagerly, more happy to be put to a task than to sit bored at a tea table.

Tarrant sank into his chair as he watched the queen leave with the dormouse and March Hare at her side. Mally did look back once toward her dear friend, her amber eyes glistening with sadness as she met his enraged glare. Tarrant felt another twinge of guilt in his stomach as he sent his friends off with anger and hate.

 _But they don't understand. They can't_. He reasoned.

Tarrant found himself alone once again. He looked about the empty grove, taking in the sight of the overturned chair, the spilled and stale tea, the chipped and dirty cups, the piles of stale and fresh sweets. The air about him hung heavy and dark, the skies above swirled with grey clouds, threatening to usher in a tempest at any moment. He knew without looking that the windmill behind him, ruined once by Time, looked as dejected and sad as it had when Alice had stumbled upon it many years before.

 _Oh, Alice,_ Tarrant shook his head as he pressed his face into his palms. _What have you done to me?_

Tarrant sat frozen with his hand covering his face as he replayed in his head the moment Alice had come to him fully grown. He had remembered her as a child, cute and spunky and fearless. He had expected that Alice to return. After all, when she fell down the rabbit hole again it had only been a few years since she last left him at the tables.

But when she had ascended the hill and came from the woods in the distance, a full-grown woman, he had lost the breath in his lungs. He knew it was her the moment he saw her long blonde curls, met the murky green eyes. This was the Alice he had been waiting years to return. And she was beautiful and (nearly) the right size and he knew that he would fall in love with her.

_Oh, how I did_

"Mister Mad Hatter?" A small voice broke through the vale of memories and tears. Tarrant froze, afraid to drop his hands from his face. "Mister Mad Hatter, is that you?"

Tarrant felt his heart jump into his throat as his muscles tensed. Slowly, he began to drop his hands to his lap. He nearly let out of a cry of dismay when he saw her at the end of his table.

She was a young girl, no more than seven if he were to guess. She was on the thinner side, but her round face was still chubby with child fat about her cheeks. Her skin had paled, paler than was possible for a person from above tumbling down the rabbit hole, and her full lips were near as red as his. Her green eyes were wide and vibrant; emerald pools sitting below thin and graceful red eyebrows. Her perky petite nose was littered with freckles that covered her cheeks, too. From her head spiraled thick red curls that fell to her waist.

She was wearing a blue frock that fell to her legs. Her white stocking beneath were ripped about the knees, revealing pale skin that was marred by cuts and scrapes. Her white pinafore was streaked with earth and greens, meaning she had taken a tumble or two in the Tulgey Woods. She had a small gash above her left eye and more dirt streaked on her right cheek.

"I am…I am the Mad Hatter." Tarrant nodded his head slowly.

"Oh, please!" The girl ran toward him. In her quick movement, with that frock and pinafore, Tarrant knew that this was the child who was doggedly searching for him.

Mirana had been right— Alice's child was not going to be one that gave up easily.

Tarrant stood, his eyes wide as she stepped away from the child who was quick to his side. He had once entertained a girl with cute ringlets, serving her tea and giving her cakes all while lecturing her on the importance of speaking properly. Now he had another small girl come to his side and he was beginning to realize what he had missed Mally saying.

"Mister Hatter, you have to help me!" She hurried to his side, wrapping her arms about his legs, gripping ahold of his trousers as she wept into the pinstripe patterned fabric.

"Who…who are you?" Tarrant shook his head.

The girl looked up at him with flashing green eyes. He could see that they were tinted ever so slightly a blue color as she wept. When she stood, realizing she had forgotten her manners, he watched as they flashed the faintest shade of yellow. Tarrant stumbled back, pulling from her grip as he sought for balance on the back of his chair.

"Please forgive me," the girl sniffed as she wiped her nose on the back of her arm. "I've had the most confusing tumble down a rabbit hole and I don't quite know where I am and this place is so very curious and comforting and terrible all once." She gasped for breath as her emotion began to take control. Tarrant felt pity for her and reached forward, placing a hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture as he kneeled before her.

"Perhaps you could start with your name?" Tarrant asked of her, his voice gentle and quiet.

"Aisling. Aisling Kingsleigh." The girl sniffed. "And I am in need of help, Mister Hatter. My mother is very sick. And she knew you, you see, because she is Alice Kingsleigh. And she helped you once. She helped you get better. But now she is very sick, Mr. Hatter, and she's going to die if she doesn't get a magical kind of medicine. So you have to help her, please, Mr. Hatter!" Aisling tumbled into his arms, her shoulders shaking with sobs as she began to weep into his arms.

"Oh," Tarrant managed as he held the girl, his hand wrapping around the back of her head. _It can't be_ , he reasoned with himself. _She just happens to look this way. There are plenty of red headed girls in the world._ "Now, why don't you stop you tears, young one, and we can be on our way to the White Queen, Mirana of Marmoreal. She is the one who can help you mother." He pulled away from Aisling to get a better view of her.

She struggled to calm her sobs, sniffing with force as she nodded her head. "Th-thank you, Mister Hightopp."

Tarrant reached into his pocket to pull forth the crimson kerchief. He dabbed at her eyes and nose with it. He used a lick of his spit to wash away the dirt on her face. "There now, calm down. I am sure I can help you."

Aisling nodded her head, her small hands resting on his forearms as she steadied herself. "Can you answer one thing for me, Mister Hatter?" She looked at him with shimmering emerald eyes.

"And what is that?" He asked her.

"I've been searching for my father for a long time you see and someone today told me something and I think it's a lie, but I don't know. Can you help me?"

Tarrant felt his stomach twist as he looked at her with wide eyes. "I…I…I can try." He stammered.

"Someone said you're my father— are you?" She looked at him with green eyes, her red hair framing her round face.

Tarrant felt his head spin as he let go of her, stumbling to his feet. He turned away, despite her cries for him to stop and help her, running toward the windmill behind him.

He sprinted up the stairs and through the door, slamming it shut behind him. Small pounds on the other side signaled that she had followed, desperate for truthful answers.

Tarrant shook his head, unable to speak as he slid down the door; instead, great wailing sobs escaped his throat as he crumpled on the floor, holding himself as realization flooded every part of his being.


	4. Splintered

Aisling felt her stomach flip as she reached the edge of the forest, her fingers sweating with the idea of stepping out into the open field before her. The grove was not dappled with sunlight like the path behind her had been, but instead was filled with a thin fog, the sky overhead grey and ominous. This was not the place she thought of when her mother told her stories of the Mad Tea Party. She imagined swirls of color, much like the parades she experienced in Peking and Hong Kong. She imagined laughter and tables filled with people, the clinking of spoons against china as sugar was stirred into tea.

The grove, instead, was silent. There was no merriment, no sound of a small crowd, not indication that a party was even being held.

And besides, she knew that what lay beyond was something she did not fully understand. The Mad Hatter was here, his parents had assured her of this. But the story they told her?

She paused, her fingers brushing through her red hair thoughtfully. _Could it be true?_

Aisling shook her head, reaching for the top hat that sat upon it. It certainly wouldn't do to introduce yourself to royalty with a hat upon your head— even if that royalty was just the king of the tea tables. She held the hat by its brim, taking a deep breath before stepping out into the treeless circle. _It's not much different then stepping ashore on a new port; every place contains new friends to be made,_ Aisling tried to comfort herself with her mother's advice.

The burning in the pit of her stomach, however, did not subside.

Trying to ignore the annoying pain, she continued toward the tea table in the center of the grove. Its length was legendary, as her mother had told her in her bedtime stories, and it was certainly covered with enough sweets and tea cups to host the entire crew of _The Wonder_ for a party, but the chairs sat empty and the cakes spoiling in the damp air.

The only attendee was a man at the head of the table. He sat stiffly, his long white face pulled tight with a frown on his red lips. His green eyes danced with purples and reds and blues, a merry parade of colors despite the darkness that seemed to highlight the rest of him. A top hat sat on his wild red curls, the adornment that defined him. She noticed the singed lace pattern that covered the rusty damask silk beneath. Several bejeweled hat pins and a peacock feather was tucked into the salmon band, whose large ribbon hung over the back brim and trailed down his back. There were parts to him that were familiar, her imagination proven accurate, but there also seemed to be things that were terribly different. Strange. Frightening.

Aisling felt her stomach tremble again, growling with both hunger and fright, as she approached the opposite end of the table where the Hatter sat; he remained unmoving, his green eyes rested on the table, but he seemed to be looking beyond the stained fabric his fingers rested upon.

Aisling was close enough to the table that she could reach out and touch it, but she thought it might be rude to not introduce herself properly before joining the table. Her mother had always told her it was important to know whose tea time you interrupted before you merely interrupted it.

"Mister Mad Hatter," she forced herself to speak up, pinching her eyes shut as she heard the shake in her voice. _Good captains must never be scared_ , she scolded herself as she tried to steel her nerves. "Mister Mad Hatter, is that you?" She tried again, not entirely satisfied with her re-addressing when her voice quivered just a little. The top hat fell from her fingers as she trembled with the fear she wished would leave her limbs.

His eyes darted up to take in her small form. The green in them flashing a pale yellow as they widened, his mouth dropping open as he traced her face and then her body, taking in the rip in her stocking and the dirt on her pinafore. _I really should have been more careful_ , Aisling brushed at her skirts self-consciously. _Mother always tells me I should be more patient and I always end up ruining my stockings when I don't listen._ She knew there was a gash on her cheek, as well, and she prayed that her appearance wouldn't upset the milliner.

Her heart pounded in her ears as he remained silent, his green eyes watching her intently as he slowly closed his red mouth. Aisling thought about speaking again, in the event that he had not heard her the first time, but he drowned out her attempt by finally answering.

"I am…I am the Mad Hatter." He gave a curt nod of his head, his eyes never leaving her face. She watched as the green flashed a bumble-bee yellow and then the orange of a sunset, before returning to the shimmering emerald that she had first met.

Aisling had intended on behaving with decorum, containing her emotions and presenting her case with poise and logic, as her mother did when she presented her plans to the boards of different ports, but her sense of urgency and emotion overcame her. "Oh, please!" She ran down the length of the table toward him, her hands folding over her chest in a begging motion. "Mister Mad Hatter you have to help me!"

He had stood in shock as she raced toward him, his hands raised slightly at his hips as if warning her to respect the distance between them. She ignored all of that, wrapping her arms about his legs, searching for an anchor as she began to plead for him to come to her aide, to help her mother.

"Who…who are you?" He asked, swaying to keep his balance as Aisling clutched tightly.

Aisling's cheek flushed pink in embarrassment as she realized that she knew who he was, but he certainly had never heard stories of her. From the look on his face when she first approached, she could tell he had no idea who she was and he certainly would have no clue as to why she had come. She peeled herself away from his legs, wiping at her nose with her sleeve before brushing away her tears.

"Please forgive me," she tried once again to reply with decorum, but losing the battle with her feelings instead. "I've had the most confusing tumble down a rabbit hole and I don't quite know where I am and this place is so very curious and comforting and terrible all once." She confided in him, her eyes watching his wide green stare. She was gasping for air, trying to think of what to say next, when she felt his hand on her shoulder, his fingers squeeze gently as his red mouth turned into a comforting smile.

"Perhaps you could start with your name?" His gentle, lisping voice suggested.

 _Of course!_ Aisling realized. He might not know who she was, even if she was his…she didn't want to think of what Ms. Tyva had said…but he knew her mother. He had to. "Aisling. Aisling Kingsleigh," she gulped in a breath of air before continuing on with her explanation of why she had come. "And I am in need of help, Mister Hatter. My mother is very sick. And she knew you, you see, because she is Alice Kingsleigh. And she helped you once. She helped you get better. But now she is very sick, Mr.. Hatter, and she's going to die if she doesn't get a magical kind of medicine. So you have to help her, please, Mr. Hatter!" Aisling tumbled forward into his arms, squeezing herself tightly about his neck.

He touched the small of her back hesitantly before one of his arms wrapped about the middle of her back, the other cradling her head. Aisling didn't mean to think it, but she could feel that small thought in the corner of her mind creeping in slowly, taking port in a place she didn't wish it to at all. _If I had a father…I suppose…I suppose it would be lovely if it were like him_. She dismissed the idea immediately.

She was glad he could not read her mind as he pulled away to look at her, his hands settling about her arms as he assured her of help. "Now, why don't you stop you tears, young one, and we can be on our way to the White Queen, Mirana of Marmoreal. She is the one who can help you mother."

Aisling felt her chest loosen as she sniffed back the rest of her tears, relief flooding her body as she realized he believed her and was going to help her. "Th-thank you, Mister Hightopp."

She watched as he took a crimson kerchief from his pocket, taking the edge between his fingertips before dabbing the cloth at the tears slipping from the corners of her eyes, drying their trails, and wiping away the sadness that was seeping from her nose. "There now, calm down. I am sure I can help you." He said as he licked a piece of the kerchief and used it to wipe away something on her cheek.

Why was he being so kind to her? He didn't need to be this caring. She had met many men in her life, traveling with entire crews of nothing but males about her; while her innocence and youth endeared her to most, none where ever so caring and affectionate as this man was to her. Drying her tears, holding her close. Much of what he did her mother had done. Was this what a father was like?, she wondered. Aisling felt the thought rearing at the back of her mind, tempting her to ask.

It would be so lovely if she could know. Perhaps his kindness was because he did know she was his daughter; but if he did know, why hadn't she met him before? Why hadn't he come up the rabbit hole after her? Did he not really care?

"Can you answer me one thing, Mister Hatter?" She felt the words tumble from her mouth, unbidden and unwanted.

"And what is that?"

How could she ask him? Wouldn't he be angry with her? Aisling bit her lip for a moment before continuing, knowing she had already begun to pose the question. "I've been searching for my father for a long time you see and someone today told me something and I think it's a lie, but I don't know. Can you help me?"

"I…I…I can try." He stammered, his voice shaking as hers had when she first spoke to him. Perhaps he _did_ know he was her father and he was scared of her. Perhaps he thought she was a bad child, because she was scolded so much onboard ship and when she came home to visit her Nana.

"Someone said you're my father— " she felt her voice shake like his had: scared to know the answer but desperate to all the same. _He's not a pirate, if he is,_ she thought with disappointment. "Are you?"

The Hatter pulled from her, stumbling to his feet as he did not answer her. He turned, beginning to run toward the windmill that sat behind the tea tables. Aisling felt she knew the answer, seeing his reaction. _He must hate me,_ the thought hung morose in her mind. But she hurried after him all the same, as he sprinted down the worn path from the table to the house, up the stairs, and through the door. He slammed the door shut before she could enter, Aisling crashing headlong into it, her fists cushioning her fall as she raised her arms up to protect her face.

Pushing herself away from the wood, Aisling look up at the crooked brown portal, her head shaking as she heard wails of despair muffled on the opposite side. "Please Mister Hatter!" Aisling shouted, slamming her fists on the door, trying to attract his attention. "I'm dreadfully sorry if I've asked what I shouldn't. Please, Mister Hatter, please say you'll still help me!"

Aisling felt her stomach drop at the thought that he might not come out and she'd be forced to find Marmoreal on her own, meaning she might not make it to her mother on time. She began to pound her fists even harder against the wood, trying to get his attention over the heart wrenching wails.

She had heard one man cry like this before. It was when he was delivered an urgent telegram in Peking. Aisling and Mother and several of the crew members had stopped into the port trading post to pick up supplies, mail, and stationary. The man, Stevens, had been immediately addressed by the mercantile owner, the shop keeper's long face worn and sad. Stevens had responded to the man's grief with a smile of confusion, taking the small paper in hand. As soon as his dark eyes had read the message, however, he had fallen to his knees with a gut-wrenching scream of despair. Mother had hurried over to Aisling, pulling her close as several of the crew members attended to their weeping companion. Mother had explained later that the man had received news that his new wife and their one year old baby girl had died of cholera, a terrible disease that killed quickly.

Aisling began to wonder if perhaps she had thought wrong; maybe the Hatter had a daughter once who looked just like her. And that was why his mother was confused and he was set to weeping, because she looked so much like the daughter her must have lost. _That must be it_ , Aisling decided with the nod of her head. _How terribly rude of me it is to interrupt his party, upsetting him by bringing back such painful memories_. With a heavy sigh, she leaned her forehead against the door, whispering. "I really am sorry, Mister Hatter."

She was about to turn, to make her way to Marmoreal without his help, when the distinct creaking of hinges filled the sudden silence behind her. She turned slowly, her green eyes looking at his pinstripe-trousered knees before taking in the tattered brown over coat and then finally daring to gaze up at his face. His green eyes were dull, a faded jade, and tears marked his white cheeks. His mouth was tight as he looked down on her, his hand holding tight to the doorknob as if it were his anchor.

"I…I'm sorry, Miss Kingsleigh," his lisping voice was tight. "I did not…," he cleared his throat. "I should not have run off."

Aisling felt her heart skip as she saw his grief. "Do you have tea?"

He was taken aback by her question, his chin lifting tightly as he shifted away from her, his bushy red brows crossing. "I…I wouldn't be a proper Tea Party goer if I didn't."

Aisling smiled as she pushed by him. "Then we should have a cup of tea."

She heard him shut the door before his footsteps followed her into the hall. She started to take a right, but he quickly grabbed her by the sleeve of her frock. "The kitchen is the other way," he said.

"Thank you," Aisling answered, turning quickly on her heels to enter the next room.

The kitchen was in disarray. The table was littered with leaves and roots from loose teas that had been carelessly portioned out. Weeks of cups and pots sat in the deep sink, stinking of stale tea and old sugar. The stove was littered with four different kettles of various colors; all were rusted and filled with water. The fire beneath was roaring, filling the small room with warmth as well as making the kettles sing their song of completion.

"It's a good thing you have the kettles boiling," she noted. She took to the cabinet that stood next to the stove, pleased to find a tea cup that was empty and clean. "And a cup," she grinned. Taking the cup in hand, she placed it on the table, brushing away some of the tea remains. She pointed to the seat, turning to look back at the man who was watching her closely. "You should sit; I can manage the tea-making part. Mother has me tend to it every tea time."

The Hatter opened his mouth as if to protest, but he decided not to, taking the seat as she instructed. Aisling returned to the stove, looking about for where he might store his tea. She was pleased to find a counter filled with tins and bowls next to the sinks, standing on her tip toes to read the labels. "I don't know if you've a favorite, Mister Hatter. My favorite is Lapsang Souchong. Mother always makes sure to get me several tins when we stop into Peking." She took a filled ball of tea from the counter, dumping its innards into the sink and cleaning it out the best she could with her fingers. Merrily she took to filling the infuser with the labeled tea. "In fact, this tin looks much like the kind she brings back. She said it's her favorite merchant's brand; he makes the tea blend smoky enough, but not too overpowering that it feels as if your mouth's become a fireplace filled with soot."

Aisling continued to prattle on about tea and the proper merchants as the man sat behind her, still quiet. She remembered that it took Stevens nearly a month to speak properly, and nearly a year before he was willing to approach Aisling and speak with her with the same affection as he had before. Mother had explained this was a part of the grieving process and she should respect his silence. Aisling decided she would need to respect the sound of silence in this room, too; though it made the air about her heavy and caused her skin to shudder with sad sensations.

She tried to lighten the mood by explaining to Mister Hightopp that the tea she treasured the most was flowering teas Mother had collected from Xiaguan. It was rare that Mother made a trek into the interior of China that did not follow a river, but she had made the journey three times to the ancient city, collecting the blooming teas each time she went. She had gone not long before Aisling was born and had returned with the young girl when she was three years old; Aisling was sad she did not remember much about the city. Mother had promised she would return with her when she was eight. The Hatter seemed to grow more quiet at the mention of the exotic blends of jasmine and hibiscus that steeped in the hot water from a flower that bloomed in the kettle's belly. Aisling promised she would find a way to bring the Mad Hatter some, to experience the odd and beautiful treat, if he was able to help her mother. As she spoke, Aisling steeped the ball of Lapsang Souchong in a clean pot, filling the white china with the water from several of the kettles.

"I don't know how strong you like your tea," Aisling chatted nervously as she presented the pot to the still silent milliner. "Mother says I like my tea as bitter as I like my ocean salty." She grinned as she poured the black liquid into the cup before the Hatter.

"How will you have any?" He asked as she took the place before him at the table.

"I am always sure to bring my own cup, just in case!" Aisling answered, taking the china from her pocket. The Hatter's green eyes widened once again as she placed Mother's favorite cup on the table before her.

"Where— where did you get that?" The Mad Hatter asked.

Aisling looked at the cup fondly as she filled its bowels with the smoky tea. "Do you like it?" She asked with a wide grin. "It was my mother's; she gave it to me a couple years ago. Before that she would never part with it and tucked it into her pack wherever we went, so she could use it for tea time no matter where we were in China."

"Did she?" The Hatter asked, his voice distant as he nodded his head stiffly.

"She said that it would suit me, if I had the cup."

The Hatter took his own cup in hand, bringing the drink to his lips and sipping instead of answering her. Aisling watched his face with anticipation, hoping he approved of the way she had made the tea. It never occurred to her in the preparing of the Lapsang Souchong that she was getting the tea ready for the king of a _tea_ party— she should have paid better attention. "Do you feel better?" She asked as he took another sip.

"Better?"

"Mother always says that the best cure for sadness is a cry and a cup of tea. Seeing as you've had both, you should be cured by now." Aisling bounced in her seat, hoping that he was, indeed, feeling better, and would still agree to helping her get to the White Queen in order to retrieve the medicine for her mother.

"Mmm," he hummed, placing the china down. "How old are you, Aisling?"

"I'm six," she answered proudly. "Well, six and half, but Governess Edith says that it doesn't count, the half, that I am still six and I won't be a proper seven until my birthday."

"Six and a half," he repeated her. "And you….where have you grown up?"

"I was born on the ship called _The Wonder_ ," she watched as the Hatter winced, his eyes closing gently as his face turned away at the slightest of angles. "And that is where I have stayed most of my life. Mother works from the ship where she travels all about China. I've been to England a couple of times. I stayed for sixth months when I was four, and we've been back for two months because of my mother…"

"Right, because she is sick," the Mad Hatter nodded his head in understanding.

"You'll still help me, Mister Hatter?" Aisling asked. She saw the Hatter draw in a deep breath, his eyelids folding closed again.

"With which part?"

"Getting to the White Queen, helping my mother." Aisling said with a grin.

"And what of your father?" The Mad Hatter asked, his eyes slipping open again, flashing an amber as he looked at her.

"I— well, I suppose if you could help me with that." Aisling took a nervous sip of her tea. "I understand if the thought upsets you, seeing as your little girl died and— "

The Hatter shook his red locks as his brows twisted. "What are you talking about, child?"

"Well, I realized that you were really sad at seeing me and I thought, maybe your own daughter had died and she looked a bit like me and the sight of me made you think about her all over again and— "

The sound of his crazed laughter filled the room and Aisling fell silent, her brows twisting as she looked at the man. "You certainly have your mother's imagination." He answered her with the twinkle of his eye.

"I've got it wrong, haven't I?" Aisling sighed exaggeratedly. "Governess Edith says that I do that too much and I get the proper histories mixed up with my own histories. Like when I thought that the pirates had been the reason the Romans had fallen, because they wanted all the spices and the gold and so they looted the city and took all of it; instead Governess Edith said most of it had to do with dreadfully dull Caesars, like Julius and Nero. Nothing as exciting."

"No, I should say that history is not very exciting." The Hatter stood from the table and Aisling watched as he walked to the counter. He opened a drawer beside the sink, drawing forth a cloth before wetting it beneath the handpump faucet. "I am sure your stories are far more interesting."

"And have pictures. None of Governess Edith's books have pictures. Mother says there are plenty of good stories worth reading without pictures and I just have to make them up in my head, but I prefer the street performances instead."

The Mad Hatter approached her with the wet cloth, kneeling before her to wipe away the cut on her cheek and the dirt on her chin. "If we are to travel to the White Queen you will be in need of a change of clothes," he said as he took the cloth to her knee next. Aisling hissed as the heat caused the skin to itch and burn. "You seem to have taken a nasty fall in the Tulgey."

"I tripped over a root while I was walking— or it tripped me, I'm not entirely sure." Aisling pondered before her eyes widened. "You mean, you are willing to help me?"

His green eyes flittered up from her knee to meet her own. "I…yes, I will help you, young Miss Kingsleigh."

"Even if I remind you of the daughter you never had which I said you had?"

The Hatter sighed heavily, standing after attending to her knee. "I…I think maybe there are some topics we need to discuss, Aisling, on our way to Marmoreal. Some which may be rather upsetting."

"You're using the tone Mother uses when she's about to tell me I can't get off the boat to go to port," Aisling wrinkled her nose indignantly.

"I am afraid some of this may be just as upsetting," the Mad Hatter said with his back turned to her. "Nevertheless, let's go back to my work room; I may have enough fabric left to fix you up some trousers, if not merely repair your stockings."

"Fine," Aisling conceded, not wanting to hear the news he seemed reluctant to share. She drank the rest of her tea from the cup before jumping down from the chair. "But if you could fix my stockings, that would be good. Otherwise Nana is going to be right angry with me."

The Hatter chuckled good naturedly. "I'll see what I can do," he said as he lea her down the hall toward the room he had kept her from entering when she first entered the house.

* * *

The Mad Hatter had told Aisling to stand very still as he took measurements of the length of her arms and legs, the circumference of her waist, the circle of her neck. Aisling did her best to stand as still as she could, but the measuring tape tickled her skin and she squirmed beneath his touch, letting loose little giggles from her lips. The man took it good naturedly, sometimes tickling her further to cause her to burst forth into glorious laughter. When he had finished measuring the lengths of her feet, he nodded his head firmly, turning from her to attend to his work table, where above was hung bolts of fabric and strings of ribbons.

He fell into a deep quiet as he worked, hunched over a hand operated sewing machine that began to spin furiously, poking holes in tartan and pulling thread through soft cotton. Aisling watched him work at a dizzying speed, her head spinning, before turning away in boredom. He seemed to have forgotten her presence at the moment and she found she was dreadfully curious about the rest of the house.

The Hatter's workroom lay at the back of the round windmill; she had needed to be led through his dormitory in order to reach it. Looking back over her shoulder as she paused at the doorframe, she assured herself that he was still preoccupied with making her some proper clothing. Assured that he was paying her no mind, she passed through the doorway and into the small and lightly furnished bedroom.

There was a bed, with covers tossed about, a lumpy pillow sitting at its head. Beside it was a chest of drawers; some of them were half open, legs of pants and arms of shirts hanging over the blonde oak sides. A vanity with a basin sat across the room, where several towels were folded precariously beside the water basin. No mirror sat before the greyed walls, meaning the user could not check to see if their face was properly washed and their hair neatly combed. Looking back to the room and thinking back to the Hatter's appearance, Aisling figured he didn't really care all too much how he looked. Which was just fine with her.

Aisling gasped when she caught sight of the final adornment of his personal quarters. It was a looking glass, a vertical one that allowed for the peerer to see their entire appearance from head to foot. Aisling stepped toward it, her hand reaching out to stroke the ebony stained wood which held the reflective glass. She had seen these markings before, swirling knots and looping ribbons of gold that created curious and intricate decorative patterns against the dark wood. She traced her fingers along the etchings, her eyes traveling their intricate loops as she realized where she had seen this. A twin to this looking glass sat in Mother's personal quarters aboard _The Wonder_. It had been there for as long as Aisling could remember. And her mirror was as useful as the Hatter's appeared to be, Aisling realized as she tried to take in her own reflection.

The glass of the mirror had been shattered a thousand times, smaller slivers holding the appearance of Aislings of different sizes and slants. The center of the spider web cracks was bare, the dark wood of the frame showing through as the center piece had fallen. Aisling leaned forward, trying to take in some semblance of who— or what— was peering back at her. It looked like her, or at least the girl wore her clothes, but this was not the face she remembered looking at the previous morning.

Aisling's hair, always untamed, floated about her in a wild halo much like the Hatter's. Her mouth was stained a dark red, as if she had used the rouges that were resigned only for the mysterious and beautiful performers of plays. Her skin had gone paler, she realized, making her mouth seem so much more the red; her cheeks were powder white and she tapped them cautiously with her fingers to be sure that they still were warm with life. The paleness made her splay of freckles more obvious across her round nose and over the swell of the apples of her cheeks. The highlights of her childish cheeks were colored the softest of lavenders, tracing the length of her nose in kind was a blush pink. Her eyes were underlined with a softer pink, her lids dancing with faint blues and purples, barely noticeable unless the observer watched her closely.

Her eyes were what startled her the most. They appeared wider, large, watching everything new about her with intensity. They shimmered a brilliant emerald, dancing slightly with hints of blue and yellow as she tried to puzzle out this new appearance. She stumbled backwards as she realized who exactly she was beginning to resemble. She yearned to glance back, to be sure that he was not standing behind her and the mirror was confusing the two of them, but she knew that there was nothing wrong with the looking glass aside from its shattered state.

Cautiously, Aisling reached forward, her fingertips dancing along the glass. As she did so, the mirror shimmered and rippled, becoming a sea that looked across the wide distances. The glass did not heal, but she understood that the slivers were no longer revealing her appearance nor the room behind her. Instead, it looked into another room that swayed and bobbed with the coming tides. The wall beyond was decorated with maps and menus, scribbles of handwriting tattooing the edges of a giant image of the world. Compasses and watches were hung from chains, pinned to the shiplap above the maps. On the desk below were books held up by tins of tea on either side, creating makeshift book ends. A lone teacup sat on its saucer, untouched for several months. A spoon still stuck up from its middle.

Aisling knew that if she kept surveying the room she would see pictures and drawings tacked on the walls beyond, some of this strange land she had come to and some of them had been of her. To the left was a bunk where a striped dressing gown was hung from a hook. Boots were tucked beneath, readily accessible in the event of a great storm. The opposite side was where the clothes were kept; costumes from China in purples and greens and pinks and yellows, the tan of the breeches that made traveling the ship easier, the navy blue of the jacket that kept water from soaking the white shirt beneath. Aisling knew this room intimately because it was Mother's quarters aboard _The Wonder_. The looking glass twin was the one she was peering through to world of the ship.

"What…what are you doing?" A voice startled Aisling from her revelation and she turned quickly on her heels, eyes wide as the Hatter descended toward her. She cowed, stepping away from him as he neared, but he passed her, ripping a long sheet over the looking glass to hide it from sight.

"I...I'm dreadfully sorry, Mr. Hatter, sir," Aisling pleaded.

The Hatter gripped the edges of the mirror, his eyes closed as his fingers gripped the rounded edge. He did not speak for a moment, seemingly spellbound, before his hands melted away from the looking glass to fall at his sides. He turned to look down at Aisling with a flashing yellowed glare.

"Yeh shouldnae toch tha'," he burred deeply. "Et's no' mean' teh beh toched."

"My mother has one just like it," Aisling spoke over him. "I don't know if it shimmers, because she won't let me play with it. But it is cracked and broken like yours."

"Ah know yehr mother has ohne," he answered her. "Ah was teh ohne who brought et teh 'er." He passed by Aisling, causing her skirts to brush in the created breeze of his swift walk. "Ah," he cleared his throat aggressively. "I've made you something to wear."

Aisling turned to see that he was picking up a pile of clothing that he must have thrown down when he stopped Aisling from investigating the looking glass. He picked the garments up tenderly, his fingers brushing off imaginary dust as he presented his handiwork to the girl before him. Aisling hesitantly took the clothes from his hands.

"If you give me your stockings once you've changed, I can repair them for you, so you're Nana is not angry with you." The Hatter bowed his head before ducking out of the room.

Aisling quickly stripped herself from her dirtied pinafore and frock, keeping her petticoat about her waist as she slipped on the clothes that the Hatter had designed for her. He had provided her with a black and white striped shirt that covered her pale arms. Overtop he had made for her a royal purple sleeveless bouffant that fell to her knees. The top skirt was made from a soft cotton, the layers which peered underneath were made from tulle. He also provided her with a pair of black tights and thick socks that she slipped over her feet. She replaced her black strap shoes with a pair of black boots the Hatter had given her. She longed to peer into the cracked looking glass to access the new look she had been given, but feared the man's rage too much to risk it.

Aisling took her discarded clothes in hand, tip-toeing carefully into the workroom where the Hatter stood, waiting. He turned to look at her, a small smile crossing his mouth as he took in the sight of her in the clothes he had constructed. Aisling brushed as her skirts, hoping she had fluffed them properly; Nana usually had to fix her skirt multiple times a day. Skirts were a foreign concept to the little girl who had been dressed in breeches and trousers since she was old enough to toddle about the ship.

The Hatter approached her, pulling her hair from the collar of the shirt below to allow the curls to cascade over her shoulders and down her chest. "You look very proper," the Hatter grinned sheepishly. "A bit like your mother in her younger years."

Aisling beamed up at the man with pride when he mentioned the appearance of her young mother. "Thank you so much, Mister Hatter, for your help." She handed him her torn stockings. He took them, placing them in his giant coat pocket.

"I can repair these for you when we arrive to Marmoreal. I'll have the Time as you meet with the White Queen." He patted the pocket thoughtfully. "Will you really be needing the rest of your clothes?"

"I suppose not," Aisling mused. "But I think it would be best to bring them so Nana does not get too upset. Even with all of the dirt."

"Mmmm," the Hatter mused, taking the frock and pinafore in hand. "I'll put them in the bag I've packed." Aisling bounced on her toes in excitement as she watched the man pick up a satchel, placing the clothes in its depths. He looked back up to her with a hard frown, letting loose a heavy sigh. "I suppose we should be on our way."

"Thank you, Mister Hatter, for bringing me to the White Queen," Aisling glanced behind her shoulder as she realized she was forgetting one thing. "I must fetch my cup before we leave, though. I wouldn't want to leave it behind where I'll never be able to use it." She ran off before the man was able to stop her.

He was waiting for her in the small foyer when she had retrieved the cup from the table, dumping the rest of the liquid into the sink so as not to ruin what he carried in his bag. He took the china from her, tucking it into the satchel along with the clothes he had put away for her. Aisling smiled up to him proudly before he opened the door.

"What has you proud as the queen's flamingos?" The man mused.

Aisling reached out to grab his hand in hers, feeling the grooves and etches of the scars, the chill of the thimble, as her fingers wrapped about the cotton fingerless glove. "I always thought that maybe my father would be a pirate or a great captain or maybe even the prince of a far-off island peoples," she began to confess. "But I think maybe a Mad Hatter King of a Forever Tea Party is just as grand."

The Hatter frowned again, the corners of his mouth pressing into his cheeks and causing large dimples to form. "I…" he began, but could not seem to form the words.

Aisling felt her heart drop into her stomach as she saw the man's eyes flash amber and yellow before settling into a golden green. "Do you…do you know want me?" Aisling asked as she let go of his hand.

The man's long face struggled for a moment, his eyes widening and his mouth twisting as he searched the girl's round face. He finally seemed to settle on sadness as he fell to his knees, his hands resting on her shoulders. He looked into her eyes, his head shaking slightly as he protested her question. "No, no Aisling Kingsleigh," the Hatter answered her, lying flat several of Aisling's unruly curls. "I would be beyond proud, beyond elated, to know you were mine. My precious…daughter." He struggled with the words as his hands gently enveloped her face. "But there are a lot of mad thoughts and complicated conversations which need to be had. I did not know you were running about above my head on the other side of the rabbit hole until this morning. Perhaps you are not wrong and maybe your father is a pirate or a prince or any number of the great characters you've invented."

"And maybe he is you." Aisling said. "I could ask the White Queen, maybe she would know. Queens know an awful lot."

"That they do," the Hatter answered with sad agreement.

"And if she says yes, Mr. Hatter, will you come back with me? To see Mother? She would be so happy to see you." Aisling pulled at his wrist. The Hatter's mouth turn upside down again at her request and he stood, holding out his hand to her again. Aisling took it, trying to mask that she was disappointed that he would not answer her question. He was giving her that look that grownups always did when they were going to ignore what was said.

"I think we should be on our way to speak with the White Queen about making your mother well again," the Hatter said, instead. Aisling sighed, but nodded her head in agreement.

The Hatter opened the door and Aisling followed alongside him as he set off down the path. Aisling looked about the grove one last time, wondering if this would be the final moment she would spend in the place she had heard about since she was little. The infamous Mad Tea Party in the midst of the Tulgey Woods. A part of Aisling grieved the idea of never returning to a place that she now learned was a part of her blood, a piece of family tradition. It was then she had remembered what she had taken from her other grandmother.

"Wait!" Aisling commanded, pulling from the Hatter's hand. She hurried to where the hat she had discarded earlier sat, sitting in the dust. Aisling took it up in her hands, turning to the Hatter to hold it out to him. The man stepped closer, taking the hat in hand.

The Hatter's weak smile returned to his red lips as he took it in hand. He examined it a moment before he placed it atop her red curls. "It seems my mother has given you a little present," he said as he settled the long ribbon tails over her back. "It is suitable for now, but a much better hat could be made for you. Perhaps a beret," he fingered her curls again.

"We should be going, Mister Hatter." Aisling took his hand again.

"Yes, we should, shouldn't we?" The man sighed, standing straight, his grip tightening about Aisling's hand. He fell silent as he continued to lead her down the path and toward the Tulgey Woods in the distance, leading her in the opposite direction she had come from.

"How long will it take us to get to the Queen?" Aisling spoke as he stepped onto the beginning of a path that wound through the trees and brush in the distance.

"Marmoreal is half a day's walk, if we're swift." He answered her. "So we had best hurry if we wish to arrive in time for dinner and before the queen has finished her summons for the day."

"I hope we don't arrive too late." Aisling worried the edges of her skirt.

"Time is funny in dreams," the Hatter said gently, squeezing her hand in a comforting gesture.

Aisling only hoped that he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a fun reference, I base a lot of Aisling's appearance off of the Russian model Valentina Lyapina. I was searching young red head girls on Pinterest to begin to paint a picture of her in my mind and I kept stumbling across pictures of Miss Lyapina and she has this whimsical, otherworldly air about her that just screams Aisling.
> 
> I think the anthem to this story is "Where's My Love?" by SYML.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to those who take the time to review and to leave a kudo. Always appreciate it! 
> 
> Fairfarren,  
> Lydia


	5. Maddening Realities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am SOOO sorry for the delay. It's been a crazy couple of months, what with transitioning to a summer job and in the midst of job interviews for a full time teaching job. I am getting back into the swing of writing, though, because I missed it. And since I knew exactly where I was going with this story, I've been dedicating time to working on it. I've already nearly finished the next chapter, and I'll be updating weekly, so expect to see constant updates on this one. And be looking out for updates on some of my other works, too. and PLEASE drop into my inbox if I go silent! Thank you all for being so understanding and patient, and I will stop talking so you can go on reading! - Lydia

 

Aisling's feet were aching, but she was too afraid to say anything to the man who carried on ahead of her. Besides, sometimes going on adventures meant blistered toes and ruined heels; at the very least, that is what Mother had told her when Aisling had her first horrid sunburn aboard  _The Wonder_. She had spent the entire day on deck wearing only a pair of cotton breeches, no more than four years old. Mother had warned her to be careful of the sun, especially because her complexion was so  _very_ fair, but Aisling had not wanted to go to the trouble of finding a shirt below deck. Besides, it had been so hot that day, the tropical sun kissing the sailors with its warm rays.

By dinner that night Aisling could feel her skin hardening; her limbs pulled against leather as she reached for the salt to add to her boiled potatoes and hard bread. She radiated heat, her cheeks flushed and her chest aching with warmth. The evening progressed and she grew more and more red, a brilliant shade for such a white child. Bedtime approached and Aisling's skin was blistering and burning and the tears began to flow. Aisling saw the sympathy in her mother's green eyes as she took to laying cool cloths on her daughter's skin, soothing her with murmured lullabies.

"I told you Aisling," Mother had said as Aisling continued to let loose little tears as she lay on the cot. "You should have gone and fetched a shirt. The sun is not kind to girls whose skin are as fair as yours."

It had taken Aisling several days for her skin to return to normal; the blisters had all popped a few days later and her shoulders, chest, and cheeks sloughed dead scales for weeks. After the incident, Aisling had been very prompt about putting on the silk and cotton shirts during the fierce day hours, especially when she was working with Mother on the deck of the ship.

Aisling watched the pale cheek of the strange man next to him, the skin nearly white under the blush of his cheek. If this man was her father, she understood now what Mother meant about her being  _especially_  pale. If he had been working shirtless amidst the golden deck hands, he would have been just as crimson and would have groaned in pain as she had. While the copse of trees was too thick to see the sun, she doubted this sun was as strong as the one over the Malay straight. Here, just as in England, there would be little threat of turning bright red due to disobedience.

Not that it would matter much; Mister Hightopp was dressed like a proper gentleman, head-to-toe in fabric that would shield his body from the damaging rays. She was not used to seeing men wear so many layers. Only in England did they wear waistcoats and top coats and cravats and collars. "Are you not hot?"

The man turned his gaze downward to watch her curiously, and she realized she had asked the question aloud. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she looked to her feet.

"Are you?" He asked her, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Aisling shook her head; though the two had been walking for several miles, she was comfortable in the dress he had made her, blocking her skin from the chill of the dark forest. "Not now. But maybe when we walk in the sun…"

The man's mouth turned in a straight line as he returned his attention to the winding road before them. "I should think you would be comfortable. The sun in Underland is not too bright and not too hot."

"The sun in the islands can be very warm," Aisling commented, taking his willingness to talk as permission to chatter on. She hated the deafening silence. "Sometimes we would land on islands and the men would have strips wrapped about their hips and the women would not even be wearing dresses  _or_ shirts!" She giggled at the thought to herself. "It would be much too cold to dress that way in England, however. It is so very dreary and chilly there."

"All the time?"

Aisling thought a moment of the warm days that had been drawing near, days when the governess would take her out into the fields to read lessons. "No, I suppose not all of them. But they are not as warm as the islands where we collect some of the richest and sweetest of spices. And it rains so much. There are days where we have to spend the entire time indoors and stare out the window as the rain comes down."

"I am sure it is not all that bad," the man said.

"No," Aisling shook her head. "When Mother and I visited England the first time, when I was very young and I do not remember too much, or at least that is what Mother tells me, she would read me stories when the rains fell for days. She would draw me into her lap and she would pull her favorite books from the shelves in Aunt Maggie's study and she would light a candle and read to me until it was time for tea. We would snuggle in the bed, and it was so warm and happy. I think I forgot much of the time because I fell asleep so often."

The Hatter stopped to look down at her with a crooked smile, a look of mixed happiness and sadness. The expression confused Aisling.

"Your mother cared for you well, did she not?"

"My mother is the best mother in the whole world," Aisling's mouth spread into a wide smile. "She makes sure I can come on as many adventures with her as I can. She's taken me to see palaces and visit bazaars and explore the jungles and the forests and the rivers. She brings me treats when I must stay onboard  _The Wonder_  and she has to go to port. She gives me extra sweets at tea time and she sings me to sleep every night. She has the most fun stories and she draws the finest of pictures. That was how I recognized you!"

Mr. Hightopp's brows twisted as he looked down at the girl with a shake of his red head. "I don't understand."

"Mother drew pictures of you; all of you. She drew pictures of Queen Mirana and the Cheshire cat and brave Mally. She even drew some of Time, which I do not understand because Time is not a person, or so Nana says. And she drew pages and pages of pictures of you, Mr. Hightopp."

The Hatter froze, his green eyes unfocused as his gaze swept Aisling's face. "And she spoke of me?"

"All the time!" Aisling reached out to grab hold of the Hatter's hand. "She told me of all the adventures the two of you had. The first time she met you and how you served her tea and asked her riddles and lectured her on saying what you mean and meaning what you say. She told me tales about how you rescued her from Stayne, the Knave and Captain of the Guards. How you were so brave when the Red Queen held you captive. She told me that when she came back through the looking glass that she was so sad to hear you were unwell and she was frightened when she visited you and you kicked her out. She told me all about how she traveled through time and met different versions of you, but each version of you was a friend she knew so well. And she told me how she had to leave you again, how it made her so very sad."

Aisling ceased talking when the Hatter pulled his hand from her, leaving her behind as he walked down the path.

"Wait! Mr. Hightopp! Why are you mad at me?" Aisling felt tears welling up in her eyes as the man she had heard so much of pulled away from her so quickly.

The Hatter stopped, turning on his heels to look down at Aisling. "The last story you heard of me, Aisling, was when she had to leave me and my family to go back through the looking glass?"

Aisling nodded her head. "She said she was very sad to leave you and frightened she'd never see you again."

"She said nothing about the looking glass in her room? She didn't tell you why it was cracked?" The Hatter's eyes were burning amber as he glared at her. Aisling's heart leapt in her chest as the look frightened her.

"No," Aisling put her hands to her face. "I am sorry, Mr. Hightopp." Aisling apologized as she burst into tears. She pressed her hands to her eyes to try to keep the tears in so she did not drown the forest with a lachrymotic flood.

The sound of crunching gravel filled her ears and she could feel arms wrap about her shoulders. "I am sorry, too, Aisling. I did not mean to make you weep. You did nothing wrong, I promise you that." The Hatter said as he pressed his mouth into the crown of her head. She felt his arm wrap about her legs as he lifted her into his arms. She looped her arms about his neck, resting her head on his shoulder as he began to carry her through the forest.

"Should Mother have told me about the looking glass in her room?" Aisling dared ask, tensing in his arms in case he should get angry.

His calm response surprised her and made her feel bad all at once. "I'm not sure, Aisling."

Aisling shifted in his embrace, his arms moving to accommodate the moving of her body. She sat so she was perched on his forearm; at this angle she could look him in the face as she spoke with him. Mother always said that you could tell a person's true words by looking at their face when they talked to you. All Aisling saw was that this man's kaleidoscope eyes were tinged blue with sadness. Aisling reached out with her free hand to pat his cheek affectionately, her other arm, looped about his neck, pulled tight in a side embrace.

"I did not mean to make you angry." Aisling apologized. "I do that a lot. The governess and the nannies are always yelling and scolding me for not listening. They tell me that I do not listen and that I am a naughty little girl. They say I have too much curiosity. It will get me into trouble."

The Hatter's mouth twisted into a small smile as his chest shook with a chuckle. "Yes, I suppose curiosity can get one into trouble, but it is not a bad thing." She felt his body shudder with a sigh. "And you are not a naughty little girl. And I am not angry."

Aisling found this very hard to believe. When people yelled they were angry. Aisling yelled whenever the nanny helping her in the morning insisted on tying the apron of her pinafore too tight or when they forced her to act like a proper lady or when they expected her to sit while others talked and not say anything at all— even if she knew what all the grown ups were talking about.  _Especially_ if they were wrong.

"You yelled," Aisling insisted. "Yelling means you are angry."

The Hatter seemed to ponder this for a minute before nodding his head. "I suppose you are right. When people yell it often means they are angry. I guess I am a little angry. But mostly I am just sad."

"Oh," Aisling knew what sad was. It seemed to be the thing that swallowed her up when Mother was sick. "Maybe you could tell me a story and it would keep you from thinking about feeling sad. That is what my Aunt Maggie tells me to do whenever I have to sit outside Mother's room."

"Sit outside her room?" The Hatter looked down at her with narrowed eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Like I told you…Mother is very, very sick. And sometimes, when she has really bad days, the doctors tell me that I cannot go into her. That I will be very loud and that I will keep her from resting."

"Is that so?" The Hatter asked calmly.

"Aunt Maggie says it also because they do not want me getting sick, too. That what Mother has I can maybe get if I'm breathing the same bad air. They want me to grow up to be strong and healthy. Aunt Maggie says that maybe I can grow up to help people in a hospital or raise money for a good cause, but I mostly want to grow up and have my own ship, like Mother."

"Would you mind if I put you down, Aisling?" The Hatter asked. Aisling shifted in his arms to assist him with helping her to her feet. "I'm afraid we have a long way to walk and it might be good for you to use your legs as far as you can go."

"I understand, Mr. Hatter," Aisling replied. "Could I perhaps hold your hand?"

The man looked down at her, his eyes flashing for a moment, before he offered out his hand. His fingers were scarred and stained red. The thumb of this hand was bandaged, another finger bore a thimble. Aisling could imagine the things he made with these sure hands. The hats and dresses and breeches he sewed with nimble fingers. Every detail described to Aisling as she drifted off to sleep.  _I can see your father's talent in your cross stitching, Aisling_ , Mother had said to her one afternoon when she was feeling well enough to sit outside. She had asked Aisling to practice her stitching as the two sat underneath the rare warm sun.

Aisling took the Hatter's hand in hers, squeeze the large palm tightly.

"If I were to tell you a story, Aisling, what kind of story would you want it to be?" He asked, his voice low and calm, his gaze once again on the road ahead.

"Can you tell me the one about Mother. The one she did not tell me with the looking glasses? The one that made you angry? Or sad…I mean."

She felt him tense in her hand, looked up at him cautiously in case he did get angry again, but he did not so much as flinch this time. "That is a story for another day, Aisling. Has your Mother told you about the day that she came and visited me at the tea table, when she was not much older than you?"

"Many times," Aisling replied with a sigh. "How about the Frabjous Night?" Aisling suggested. "Mother always said that the night before the Frabjous Day she was so worried, but that you came and made her feel better about it. I've asked her to tell me the story a million times, but she says that it's one that she can't tell quite right. That you would need to tell me yourself, if I ever did meet you."

Mr. Hightopp's mouth tightened for an instant, in that strange smile grownups showed when they were not really happy, but instead were thinking too grimly on a matter. "I suppose I could tell you that story, but I don't see how I could tell it any better than she."

"Oh, but do try," Aisling begged, afraid that maybe he would give up on the story telling all together.

"Let me think on it a minute; it was such a long time ago…or was it?" The man said, more to himself than to the little girl at his side. "I remember the Frabjous Day well…but it's eve I suppose I've locked away in the gardens of my memory."

Aisling had heard that phrase before. It was the one Mr. Hightopp had told her mother before she had returned through the looking glass to help her mother.  _The garden of memories and the palace of dreams_ , that is what he had told mother. Aisling had asked if there was a way she could get to these gardens and palaces so that she could meet Mother's dearest friend. But Mother had only responded with sighs and admitted that she herself had lost the path.

Perhaps, when Mr. Hightopp helped Aisling make Mother feel better, Mr. Hightopp could help Mother find her way back to the gardens and she would feel even more happy and bright.

"I had found myself restless after returning to my quarters, seeing as I had just seen Alice Kingsleigh but had not had a proper conversation with her. But I could tell from her face that she was troubled. She seemed so very unsure of who she was and I think others were beginning to wonder if she was, indeed, Alice. I never had my doubts, not even when she had shown up to my table with a puzzled look as if she had never shared a cup of tea with me before. She did not know who she was, but I did… _I knew my Alice."_ The words filled Aisling's ears, collecting her thoughts in the present. Mr. Hightopp had been talking, telling the story of the one night before the Frabjous Day as Aisling had wandered off with her thoughts. "I knew that she just needed some encouragement, so I went to her room that evening."

Aisling's gaze followed the arm of the man to the slope of his shoulder, past to the face that was above, his own eyes were misted with memory. Aisling could feel him soften as he talked of Mother, how he always seemed to talk of Mother.

The way they talked about each other, with that look of wanting in their eyes…Aisling wondered if maybe there was more to Mother and Mr. Hightopp's relationship than Mother had told her.

"I went to her room that evening and, finding the door open, I entered. She was there, as I knew she would be, dressed in those ivory bedclothes. She was out on the balcony, hunched over as she watched the waterfalls of Marmoreal beyond. Or perhaps she was looking at the moon and wishing she were home. She looked so very lost in that moment and I felt very sorry for Alice the Champion. She did not remember who she was but I could see clearly that she was the hero that Underland needed. She was our Jabberwocky slayer."

"Did you tell her that she was?" Aisling asked. "To help her remember."

"I tried," Mr. Hightopp said. "I approached her, not sure whether to interrupt her thinking or to let her sit with her thoughts a bit longer. But she sensed me, as she always has. And your Mother, she turned, and she looked at me with that sad grin she is so capable of mustering when she is in a hard place but she is so very happy to see you." Aisling watched as a smiled pulled at the corner of Mr. Hightopp's red lips. She could see him looking ahead, but not at the path— he was watching the memory play out before his emerald eyes, his grip loosening on her hand as he recalled a happy time.

A time when Mother had been happy and whole and fully where she belonged.

"I asked her the forever conundrum…perhaps she has told it to you, Aisling?"

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?" Aisling had heard the phrase many a time; she had hoped to help Mother find the answer, but many later nights spent concocting a correct response left Aisling tired and empty.

"You are a clever girl; I am glad to know that my— that Alice has not forgotten." Mr. Hightopp blinked harshly, clearing his throat as he shook the trance of memory from his gaze. "She had responded as she always did, that she was thinking on it."

"I have joined her in thinking on it."

"And have you come to an answer, dear Aisling?" Mr. Hightopp looked down at her with a smirk.

"If the answer is a hurting brain, then I have." Aisling frowned. "I have spent so much time thinking on it but I can't figure it out."

"Nor can I," Mr. Hightopp squeezed her hand. "But don't worry; perhaps we can think on it together."

"In the future?" Aisling felt her heart race. That would mean that Mr. Hightopp would wanted Mother and her around. She would be able to stay in Underland and take tea with the Mad Hatter every day. Surely this would beat the faux tea lessons she was forced to take everyday with either her Nana or one of the tutors. They were horrible and stuffy and all of them were meant to turn her into a lady; something she did not every want to become.

Mr. Hightopp's mouth returned to that tight-lipped frown that he seemed to wear whenever Aisling asked too many questions about Mother or about seeing him in the future. The grip on her hand loosened as he shook his head, the dazed gaze of looking into a memory melting from his features as he thought forward instead of back. "The future, dear Aisling, is so incredibly hard to see. Instead, why don't we look back? The vision is much less hazy." He cleared his throat as he pushed a smile back onto his lips. "Now where was I in the story?"

"You had asked Mother about ravens and writing desks, and she had responded that she was still thinking on it."

"Right, a rare past time for your eager Mother, but I suppose in that moment she would have much rather spent her time thinking instead of acting. I knew it would be painful for her, but I asked her to remember which night it was. She knew it was the eve of the Frabjous Day. I had wanted her to feel encouraged, to know that she could defeat that Jabberwocky with ease. She would emerge the victor; the Oraculum had foretold it. Instead, your Mother looked sad instead of encouraged."

"She told me she was very frightened when she faced the Jabberwocky, with its ferocious claws and its terrible teeth."

"Your Mother was very brave for facing that beast; but I knew that she could do it. Even if the scrolls had not declared her the Champion, I knew my— I knew Alice was."

"She said when she went into battle with the Jabberwocky that she looked back at you, to see if you were watching. That she knew if you were standing behind her, she could win."

"Did she?" The Mad Hatter's brows crossed. "On the eve of the Frabjous Day, she certainly did not feel that way. She confessed that she wished she would wake up."

"She thought it was a dream still?!" Aisling gasped, then burst into giggles. How could Mother truly believe that such a wonderful, magical, mystical place was not real? Her mother? Aising was glad that Underland was real; she felt as if the air around her made her feel more alive than the salty winds of the open ocean. She hoped that when Mother was made well again, that she would take Aisling to Underland and the two of them could live with Mr. Hightopp forever.

"I am glad you find it amusing that your Mother believed this all to be a dream, but at the time I did not think it was so amusing." Mr. Hightopp retorted. "' _Still believe this is a dream, do you_?', I even asked her."

"My Mother was a silly woman if she thought this was all a dream."

"I don't think she was silly, Aisling," Mr. Hightopp squeezed her hand. "I think she was as you said— scared." Mr. Hightopp stopped, kneeling down to face Aisling. "I think she was terrified of the monster in that moment and she hoped that if she pinched her arm like her father had told her that she would wake up."

Aisling felt something grip her heart and her eyes widened. "Do you think Mother feels that way now?"

"I think your mother is facing something much bigger than the Jabberwocky and it is going to take more power than the Vorpal blade to get her out of this trouble."

"Are you going to be there, Mr. Hightopp? Is she going to be able to turn around and see you and feel better about fighting whatever is hurting her?"

Mr. Hightopp had been stroking Aisling's arm in a soothing manner as he confessed what he thought Mother was feeling; he stopped when the girl asked him about returning to stand nearby. "' _Of course. This has all come from my own mind_ ,' your mother had said. I realized then that we had an even bigger problem." Mr. Hightopp returned to the story as he stood up, taking Aisling's hand in his own once more.

"What?!" Aisling yelped.

"If I had come from your mother's mind, that would mean that I wasn't real!" The Mad Hatter looked down at her with wide green eyes, his mouth turned into a surprised 'o'. "And I told her so."

"What a silly silly woman my mother was!" Aisling giggled again.

"Do you know what your mother's answer to me was, Aisling Kingsleigh?" Mr. Hightopp's voice took on an air of mock insult. "She said to me ' _I'm afraid so. You're just a figment of my imagination_ '. I have never once been called a figment of one's imagination! That would mean the person would have to be half mad to think of dreaming me up!"

"I believe my mother is half mad; at least, that was what many of the men she met at port said of her." Aisling watched with confusion as Mr. Hightopp's brows knitted at the comment.

"Yes…well, I said much the same to her. ' _You'd have to be half mad to dream me up!_ '"

"And what did she say to that?"

"Oh, your mother knows, Aisling, that she is just as half mad as me. She would not be so terribly wonderful and courageous and cunning if she wasn't. She agreed." The Mad Hatter's demeanor once more went from that of joy and laughter at retold the memory to that of somber reflection. Something about that night had both inspired and deflated him.

"And is that how your evening ended?"

"Nearly," Mr. Hightopp answered. "She made some comment about how she would miss me when she woke up. I wish I had had an answer for her in that moment, but I did not. My brave, dear Alice was in there, I knew it; she was just so very hidden under everything that her world had done to her between her first tumble down the rabbit hole and her second."

"What did you do, Mr. Hightopp?"

"I stood with her. Sometimes, when people are sad, Aisling, they do not need words of comfort spoken to them or ballads of courage sung in their honor; they just need someone to stand with them and be sad for a moment and be glad for the company. We stood, the two of us, as the moon ducked between clouds in the distance, and we listened to the waterfall and the sounds of each other breathing. Perhaps an hour or two passed, and then she told me she was tired. I bid your mother goodnight."

"Did you kiss her?" Aisling asked. The whole story sounded like a prince coming to the aid of his princess— a fairytale of two strong people that she hoped would find one another.

"No, Aisling. But she did kiss me softly on the cheek, as I am sure she has kissed you, when she bid me goodnight."

Aisling was sure that the kiss was nothing like the pecks on the cheek that her mother gave her before she turned off the lamps for bed. She knew she would raise the Mad Hatter's ire with her next question, but Aisling was in need to know the answer.

"Mr. Hightopp, do you love my mother?"

Mr. Hightopp let go of Aisling's hand, his stride picking up and putting distance between the two of them once more. She felt tears jump to her eyes at the small form of rejection, but she could not help but think, in her small child's understanding, that his reaction was not to her, but to her mother.

"Come on, Aisling, we have many miles to walk before we reach Marmoreal and we want to get there before it gets dark."

* * *

Time passed slowly as Aisling trudged behind the Mad Hatter. Her stomach was beginning to protest with the want for food and her eyelids were growing heavy. She was still used to having time after tea to rest her head while Mother or Aunt Maggie read to her; she often did not hear the end of stories because she had nodded off to the land of dreams. She bit her lip as she continued to stumble on, not wanting to upset Mr. Hightopp further. He had not spoken since she had asked him if he loved her mother.

Aisling rubbed her eyes against the sun; the two had long left the woods and had been traveling across green pastures. The Hatter had not slowed his pace, despite the walk through the bright afternoon rays, and Aisling found it even harder to fight her exhaustion as the heat beneath her clothing rose. She tripped over her shoes once more, letting out a small yelp before tumbling to the grass below.

The cry had caught the milliner's attention and he turned, his green eyes widening as he saw her laying sprawled in the field.

"Aisling," he hurried back. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Aisling answered, her face still pressed into the dirt. The grass was soft beneath her, like a downy mattress, and she wanted to beg him to allow her to continue to lie amidst the bedding for a moment longer.

"We are nearly to the Queen's castle," Mr. Hightopp placed a hand on her back. "Do you suppose you could stand?"

Aisling shook her head, her ginger curls tumbling over her shoulder as she grew defiant. "I want to lie here!"

"You can't lie here, Aisling, we have to get to the castle. To help your mother, remember?"

Aisling's face rose from the grass; she could see him peering down at her from under the curve of her brow. With a groan, Aisling let her head fall back onto the grass.

"I just need a moment," she insisted.

"Aisling— "

"I can't, Mr. Hightopp. I CANNOT!" Aisling yelled, kicking her arms and her legs.

"I can carry you, Aisling," the Mad Hatter insisted. "Can you just sit up for me?"

"But it is so hot!" Aisling howled. "The sun is too bright, and my dress is too long, and my feet hurt. I probably have blisters the size of the moon!"

"Is that so?" The milliner asked, settling onto his rear beside the girl. He tented his legs, his elbows resting on his kneecaps as he took his place next to her. "I suppose that means that we'll have to put you up among the stars. We wouldn't want your wounds showing the moon up, now would we?"

"I'm not walking anymore!" Aisling screamed. "I am done walking."

"Aisling," she could hear exasperation creep into his voice.

"I am not!" She insisted.

She heard the man sigh and felt him shift beside her. She figured he would leave her lying there, in the hopes that she would run after him once he had gone too far.  _Well I am staying right here until my feet stop pounding_ , Aisling thought cruelly.  _You shan't get too far once you realize I am not going to walk!_ Aisling let her body melt into the grass, her eyes shutting as the greenery pillowed her cheek.

Just as she was drifting off to sleep, she felt two hands about her middle. Her eyes opened wide as her body began to fold in half. Turning her head, she looked past the curtain of her red curls to see that the milliner had taken her about the middle and was lifting her into his arms.

"C'mon Aisling," he groaned, settling her against his chest. "It's not that much further."

"I don't want to go," she moaned, her head lolling against his breast pocket. A piece of ribbon tickled her nose, and she sneezed sharply, rubbing the offended appendage as she fought heavy eyelids once again.

"Pretty and utter nonsense," the milliner replied, his free arm wrapping about her body. "And not the silliness I like, either. Of course, you wish to go to Marmoreal. There you shall see the White Queen and all her courtiers and her knights. All the things you have been dreaming of for years."

Aisling replied with a moan. She pressed her face further into the swell of his chest. His hand cupped her cheek lovingly, pressing her temple into the warmth of his body. He tucked the crown of her head into the nook between his chest and chin. "And we shall talk to the White Queen and she will make your mother better."

"Oh yes," Aisling's mind was cloudy, but she did remember something about Mother and how dreadfully ill she had been and how it would have to be the White Queen that would save her.  _No_ …Aisling's drowsy thoughts stirred.  _Not the White Queen. The Mad Hatter_. "We can make Mother well again."

"And what will you do, Aisling, when your mother is well again? Will you go on many adventures?"

"We can sail the Seven Seas, just as Nana always hoped we wouldn't. And we'd fight pirates and find treasure…"

"Sounds like wonderful adventures, indeed," the Hatter crooned as he carried her across the fields of Snud and into Marmoreal. "If you look just ahead, Aisling, you will find that we are nearly at the White Queen's castle."

Aisling turned her head slightly, opening her eyes just enough to peer through the slits to see the looking marble white castle beyond. This was the palace where Mother had stayed before fighting the Jabberwocky. The place where she had found the Vorpal Blade and her armor. The place where she had thought the Mad Hatter was not real and that all of this had been a dream.

 _Perhaps it is all a dream_ , Aisling's thoughts swirled and sounded much like her Nana.  _Fantastic bedtime stories to fill a young girl's head with ridiculous nonsense._

"Yes, all of it is nonsense _,"_ Aisling murmured. "And everything is what is shouldn't be and isn't what it should."

"What was that, Aisling?" Mr. Hightopp asked, his breath tickling the hair at her temples.

"I want to have adventures here," Aisling answered him, trying to sit up, to awaken. This wasn't a dream, this was all very real, and she would so much hate to sleep through all of it. "I want to have tea at your table and to trade riddles and stories. I want to slay Jabberwockys and I want to meet Time. I want to stay in Underland forever. With you."

Aisling braced, expecting the Hatter to put her down, but instead found that he only embraced her more tightly. "I know, Aisling, I wish you could stay here forever, too. I should love to host you at one of my lovely tea parties; I think you would make the most perfect of guests."

"Then please," Aisling pushed against his chest to look up at him, her heavy eyes fighting to stay open so that she could convince him to have her forever. "Can't you find a way to help me stay here."

"Oh, Aisling, every time I ask a pretty little girl to stay, she always seems to tumble back up the rabbit hole or walk right through the looking glass. I wish that this was more than a dream, that you could be the answer to wishes that I've had all along, but it simply cannot be so. It is nearly impossible, which means that it is rightfully dreadful."

"Please, Mr. Hightopp, please," Aisling clung to him. "I know I have made you angry and that I talk too quickly and that I ask too many questions, but I want to stay with you. I dreamed that I could have a father like you and I don't want to go back to dreadful England with its boring rules and its dreary wants. I want this more than the seas!"

"More than the seas, Aisling?" The Mad Hatter chuckled. "That is quite a statement to make from a girl who speaks so highly of ships and waves and water."

"I want Underland now," Aisling insisted. "And I want you."

Mr. Hightopp's hand went to Aisling's temple, pushing her head down against his chest as he shushed her with gentle hushes. "Aisling, you are tired. You must get some rest. Close your eyes for a moment and I'll awake you when we have reached the palace of the White Queen."

"But Mr. Hightopp, I  _cannot_ go to sleep!" Aisling jerked, her arms wrapping about his neck.

"You can, Aisling, I promise that I will not let anything hurt you. You've seen the castle in the distance yourself; you know that it would be nothing more than a Cheshire Cat nap."

"But Mr, Hightopp!" Aisling shrieked, doing her best to fight her drowsiness. "I cannot. It would be horrendous if I fell asleep."

"And why is that, my wonderful little child?" The Hatter asked, shifting her to his hip, her legs splaying out on either side of his body as he cradled her to his side.

"Because than I shall wake up in my bed and Mother will be sick and she will still be dying and I will never be able to visit with you again because Nana will send me somewhere where they will take all my memories of you and they will not allow me to sail a ship and because of all of that I shall forget my Mother!" Aisling howled, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Oh Aisling," the man's voice was filled with pity. "You and your mother are so very much alike."

"What do you mean?" Wailed Aisling, rubbing her eyes once more.

"You both think I am nothing more than a dream," while he smiled as he said this, Aisling could hear sadness in his voice. "I promise you, just as I promised your mother, that nothing will happen to you. You will not awaken in some hallway in your Nana's house with your mother still sick. Your mother and I may not be the best of friends any longer, but I do owe her so many kindnesses for all she has done for me— and Underland. I would not allow you to return to your home without something to make your mother well."

"But I do not want to return home!" Aisling cried.

"Aisling, if you do not return home you cannot help your mother." The Mad Hatter insisted. "You must be a brave girl despite all the saneness and the stuffiness and you must help her."

"And then can I return?" Aisling looked at him. His green eyes danced about her face, growing more and more blue as he considered her features.

"If the rabbit hole or the looking glass allows, Aisling, I hope that you are able to return."

"And to stay?" She rested her head on his shoulder.

"You must never promise that," Mr. Hightopp responded. "You must promise only things that you can keep."

"But what if I can convince Mother to come back with me?" Aisling muttered. "And then she can stay and come to our tea parties and have the best of times. And she would never have to miss you again."

"Oh Aisling," the Hatter sighed heavily. "One day your mother will tell you a story and you will understand. I do not think there is anyway for her to return, as much as I want her to."

"She would be happy," Aisling insisted, "if she stayed here."

"And what of your Nana and your Aunt Maggie? What of the ship? And the company? That is why your mother had to go back home, Aisling. She had to be with the people who needed her, not who wanted her."

"I think she would be happy to leave. To see you. Even if she couldn't see the ocean again. Seeing you would make her too happy to care."

"Oh, Aisling," Mr. Hightopp crooned. "Rest your eyes. One day you will understand that there are realities that we can never fully escape. No matter how far we descend into madness."

Aisling wanted him to explain what he meant. To tell her what things she could not understand, but her eyelids were too heavy and she found herself drifting off, her weight pressing into his arms that held her as she succumbed to the draw of sleep.


	6. The Tale of a Looking Glass

Tarrant carried the girl in his arms across the fields of Marmoreal. He lovingly stroked her back and her cheek as he held her close, knowing that this would be one of the few times he could have her in her arms and pretend she was all his. That this was his daughter and he was merely waiting for his Champion of a wife to return home from her many adventures saving Underland.

But that was dream; much as she had once thought he was dream, even if it meant that she was half-mad herself. Tarrant tried to push the thoughts from his swirling mind, but the reality kept coming back and stinging his pride, as reality too often did

The sun was beginning to melt behind the mountains in the distance when he approached the steps of Marmoreal. It had been nearly half a day's journey for a walk that usually took quarter of an afternoon. But with a child in tow it made the trip twice as long.

One of the rooks heralded his arrival, opening wide the gates of the castle to allow the milliner and his small guest through. It was Mirana herself who greeted him in the great hall, her shining brown eyes watching with a reserved joy as he entered through the doors, cradling the small child in his arms.

"You have arrived," she glided over toward him, placing a hand on his forearm as her dark lips parted in a smile. "And you brought her."

"Hush," Tarrant hissed. "She is sleeping. She needs her rest."

"That she does," Mirana agreed with him, her hand traveling up to rest against the back of his arm.

Her hand still pressed to the bac of his arm, she led him into one of the small rooms of the great hall. It was furnished with several fainting couches and a fire was burning in the corner, though the afternoon was still warm from the bright sun. "Many children do need their sleep, especially after such long treks across the countryside following a morose milliner."

Tarrant sneered at Mirana as he gently placed the girl down on one of the couches, careful to deposit her without waking her. He perched on the cushion beside her small body, taking a moment to watch the rise and fall of her chest.

"Have you told her?" Mirana's brows rose as she looked down at her friend.

"And what exactly is it I am supposed to tell her?"

"The answer she so desperately wants to know," the queen answered impatiently. "She was begging your own mother to help her find you…and her father."

"I cannot give her an answer I do not know!" Tarrant replied, the anger that was burning in his belly all afternoon finally erupting.

"How can you look at her and not know?" Mirana scolded him gently.

"She looks exactly as her mother did when she was a little girl, drinking tea and eating cakes at my tea party all those years ago. I do not know who her sire is anymore than she does." He placed a hand on the girl's arm. "The answer to the riddle belongs to Alice."

"Oh Tarrant!" Mirana let out an exasperated yell. "You tell me that you do not know who her father is, yet she has your hair and your mouth and, no doubt, your temper!"

"I have not seen Alice in so many years, Mirana. And here this child comes out of the Tulgey Woods to my tea table to tell me her mother is dying? And you scold me like I am the child?"

"If you are acting as the juvenile, then I shall!" Mirana retorted.

"You don't understand, Mirana, how could you?" Tarrant's voice rose. "How much it hurts me to look on this beautiful little girl and  _wish_ she was mine. Do you not think I yearn for her to be my own, to have a hope that perhaps Alice can return, that we could be happy? That I could have my own family?" Tarrant started toward Mirana, feeling the burning in his eyes as he knew they flashed a warning yellow at his old friend. And as an old friend, she did not shy away from his dramatics.

"I know, Tarrant, that this girl is not fully Abovelandian. Look at her; she does not look like Alice does, nor does she look like us. She is a child stuck between two worlds and, currently, the world she has known her entire life has been turned upside down. All she wants more than anything is to see her mother well again and to know what has become of her father. You can give her some of those answers, Tarrant, if you weren't so stubborn yourself."

"Mr…Mr. Hightopp?" A sleepy voice interrupted the row the two friends were having. Tarrant closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath as he tried to calm the blood that was rushing in his ears. He did not want her to see him angry, truly proper angry, so he tried his best to put on the cheeriest disposition he could manage.

"Well good evening, sleepyhead," he turned to her, his desire to be a father controlling his actions and words as he approached her. He cupped her cheek, allowing himself to descend into the fantasy that she was his. That the night when he had crossed through that mirror all those years ago had happened. "I thought you'd never wake. Do you see who has come to greet us? The White Queen, Mirana of Marmoreal!"

The girl stumbled off the fainting couch, scrambling to her feet. She managed a drowsy curtsey, which brought a grin to Mirana's dark lips. "And what is your name, dear heart?"

"I am Aisling Kingsleigh." The girl yawned.

"And I can see you have had a very good nap, Aisling Kingsleigh."

"I do not mean to be so tired in the presence of such a beautiful queen as yourself." Aisling apologized, her round cheeks reddening further as she flushed.

Mirana knelt before the girl, her dress skirt ballooning at her sides. She reached a pale hand out to caress the face of the child, her dark mouth curling into a sympathetic grin. "It sounds as if you've had quite the long day, my dear little friend. I understand if you are sleepy."

Aisling's small balled fists rubbed her eyes vigorously as she shook her ginger curls. "But I cannot be tired. I am on a mission to help Mother and I cannot sleep or I shall be too late."

Mirana hushed the girl, her fingers twining through the long locks haloing her long face. "There is no need to be too upset, my dear child. You are in the presence of the White Queen, who is a bit of a White Witch," Mirana winked at the child who listened to her with rapt awe. Tarrant crossed his arms, a disapproving frown twisting his red lips. "I have many tricks and potions and spells that may be able to fix what has gone wrong. A little pishsalver to fix the growing, or perhaps upelkuchen to correct shrinking?"

Tarrant watched as the girl's green eyes misted with tears. "I'm afraid her problem is neither being too small or too tall, your Majesty." The girl emphasized this point by grabbing her traveling dress by the hem and producing a deep curtsy. "I am sad to say that she is much sicker than all of that…wonderful nonsense."

"Oh, oh dear," Mirana nodded her head in understanding. "I see." The queen stood, reaching her hand out to the child at her side. "This seems like a serious and curious case and we would be best served if we were among my ingredients and books to try to find the cure for our beloved Champion."

The answer made Aisling's face brighten. Her hands clasped together as she beamed up at the pale woman before her. "Oh, do you think so? I thought it would be best to find the White Queen! Mother said she had all the answers."

"I may not have all the answers," Mirana's dark eyes darted purposefully toward Tarrant, who had stood captured by silence in the corner of the room. "But I will try to find the solutions to the riddles I cannot yet solve. Now," Mirana let out a deep sigh, "I believe it is high time to get into the kitchens and make your mother a little something to feel better. Mr. Hatter," Mirana welcomed the man into the conversation, "are you going to join us or stew in your own self-pity?"

Tarrant sneered at his friend but dropped his hands to his sides, appearing to be more cooperative to the little girl before the two of them. He forced himself to smile and answer liltingly, "Why yes, of course. All of us in Underland owe our dear Champion all of Time and his Efforts. Seeing as Time is alive because of her efforts."

"Good," Mirana seemed genuinely pleased with his response. "Then we shall take the back hallway to the kitchens and on the way, you shall have to tell me of your mother's symptoms. Perhaps I have the answer in the recesses of my memory, but if not, it will give me a list of what to look for to help find the cure." Aisling had been holding Mirana's proffered hand, but when the queen began to move, Tarrant saw the girl hesitate.

"Your Majesty,"

"You can call me Mirana, please, my dear Aisling."

Tarrant watched the girl's green round eyes widen as she considered using the name. "Mir— Mirana…do you suppose I could hold Mr. Hightopp's hand?"

Tarrant was taken aback by the request. Mirana looked at the girl's face and then to the Mad Hatter's, her knitted brows relaxing as a revelation flashed in her eyes. "Why, Aisling, that would be no issue at all."

"I do not mean to offend," Aisling's voice shook as she stepped back toward Tarrant, "I hope you are not angry with me."

"No, sweetheart, never. It has been a long day and I know you have spent so much of it with Mr. Hightopp. He is probably more of a friend to you than I am at the moment; and at Times we need our dear friends more than we need our new ones." Mirana's face was bright with a smile.

Tarrant felt the small warmth of Ailsing's hand as her small palm wrapped about his fingers. He realized that he could have refused, insisted that she take the Queen's gesture and remain polite, but a push from his gut insisted upon allowing her to hold tight. He returned her grasp with a firm one of his own.

"Now the two of you must keep up. It sounds as if Time is of the essence and sometimes He is not as gracious as He could be." Mirana began to lead the small group out of the small sitting room. "You must begin to tell me of your mother's symptoms, my sweetest Aisling, as best as you can remember them."

Tarrant felt the girl's grip tighten further about his hand as she began to speak. "It was after we had stopped in India, to drop off some cargo and pick up goods to be traded at a port in Southeast China. She began to get really hot— to have fevers— and headaches. The sailors said this was very common and it was a type of flu that made the men sick and she would be better after a couple of weeks of rest. But she did not seem to get better. Her headaches became worse and she began to have nose bleeds. She was really tired all of the time and she could barely get up to do her work. The first mate suggested that Mother travel back to England to find some rest."

"That was probably wise of him," Mirana nodded her head. "It would not have done your mother much good if she was exhausted and working all of the time."

"Back in England, she got worse." Aisling's voice was distressed, but she continued. "She had all these red spots all over her body and she was still hot with fever. That was when she started talking about Underland all the time, to anyone who came into the room. Sometimes she talked as if she saw you. On those days they wouldn't let me into Mother's room. Some days she was not talking to her imaginary friends. Those were the days I could sit with Mother. But not for long. She was tired and had headaches. She still tried to work. Until the headaches were too bad, and her eyes hurt. She then started coughing. Sometimes she coughed so hard she had blood come up. She has more days of being tired and lying in bed all day. The doctor seems worried. Nana will not tell me the truth. But I think Mother is…Mother is dying." Aisling sniffed. Tarrant felt his heart squeeze, his breath catching in his throat as he heard the pain of the girl next to him in her story.

"Oh Aisling," Mirana's soft voice broke the heavy quiet that had fallen. "You are a brave little girl, seeing your mother suffer in such ways. Have you heard at all from the doctor what kind of illness he thinks your mother has?"

"Nana mentioned the name typhoid. But I do not know what it means."

"Nor do I, I must admit," Mirana turned to face the young girl, her skirts swishing as she did so. She stopped before a great big oak door, "but I will find out what it is ailing your mother and we shall make something to get her better."

Mirana twirled once more, dramatically, to fly open the doors behind her. The portal opened to a large black and white kitchen. Several servants were bustling about; the sounds of chopping, boiling water, and mixing accented the air. Mirana clapped her hands sharply and the servants responded by gathering their tasks and ushering out quickly from the room.

"Now that we have peace and quiet," Mirana hummed as she waved the man and girl into the space behind her, "we will have to solve the solution to our little mystery."

Tarrant turned his attention to the young girl at his side. Aisling's mouth was hanging open as she looked about the kitchen before her. She still clung tightly to Tarrant's hand, her anchor among the tempest of knowledge swirling about her, but he could see that she would have loved to explore and touch every piece of item. Tarrant pulled her gently into the room, taking her up into his arms as she stumbled forward.

Her traveling dress was dusty and worn, and he knew he should make her something for the next morning. He remembered the stocking in his satchel that he would need to repair for her that evening before sending her into the strict presence of her grandmother. Aisling melted into his embrace, her posture relaxing as she pressed her ear into his shoulder.

"There are so many places to start," Mirana hummed to herself as she approached a bookshelf across the room. "Let's see, let's see," her back was to her two guests, but Tarrant imagined her dark eyes were scanning the spines for titles of the tomes before her. "Transfiguration…no that won't do. Love potions, heaven's no! Fortune telling, hmmm…. Necromancy?" The Queen paused, her hand reaching forward to pull out a book from the stacks. "Why on Time's clockface…oooh Racey!" Her soft voice shock with small rage. "I shall just have to deal with this later." She pulled the book out and looked back to her companions, shooting the two a weak smile. "Anyway, where was I looking?"

Tarrant set Aisling down on the long island table, allowing the girl to rest against him as he wrapped his arm about her shoulder. He watched as Mirana quickly scanned the next shelf for whatever title might help the ailing Champion.

"Ah yes," Mirana cooed as she pulled a book from the top shelf of the second case. "Diseases of Delusion. They are the ones that cause us to speak to the people that aren't there. It can be a great symptom for those who are not ailing of the body, but with a rash, headaches, and fevers I fear the madness may be doing her more harm than good." Mirana tabled the book on her open palm, using her free hand to shift quickly through the pages. "Hmmm... rashes, headaches…" she paused for a moment on a page. "Has she had troubles getting sick?" Mirana's dark eyes inquired of Aisling.

"No," the girl shook her head.

"Right-o," Mirana nodded as she continued in her shuffling of paper. "Ahhh, yes! Here it is!" She shouted victoriously as she stepped toward her two guests. " _Reported as typhoid fever in other lands, Blind Smoke can cause the sufferer to fall into a long state of bad-madness and half-awareness_ ," Mirana read out loud. Her voice turned into a mumble as she scanned the page more quickly. " _There are several ways to halt the illness and allow the body to recover if the patient has not been able to be restored on their own._  I'm afraid your sailor friends were right, sweet Aisling, and your Mother could have been made well if her body was able, but it seems she could not recover."

"And what must you do!" Aisling popped up, her hand resting on Tarrant's chest as she turned to demand of Mirana the cure and not the explanation.

"Well," Mirana turned back to the book, her brown eyes reading silently as she toyed with her dark lips. "Several decently easy ingredients."

Tarrant felt his heart race as he wrapped his arm around Aisling's waist. "Is there anything I must collect for you, Mirana?"

"Hmmm…wormwood, ashes from a cemetery, ginger, a pinch of luck, and hair from a child," she paused in her reading to look at Aisling, "which we are so blessed to have in locks," she turned back to her list. "No, I have everything I need."

"Then what are you waiting for, Mirana, get your mixing bowls and grinders, we must begin!" Tarrant demanded.

"I must warn you, there is one small catch." Mirana's voice was tight.

Aisling let out a cry. "I shall do it! Even if it hurts."

"Nonsense, Aisling," Tarrant's hand rubbed the girl's arm. "There wouldn't be anything half as horrible as all that." He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as he looked to Mirana to implore her to help reassure the child. "Would there?"

"Oh no, nothing terrible, not in the least." Mirana shook her white locks.

"Then what is it?" Tarrant aske.

Mirana placed the book on the table. "If the drinker has this potion, they will be drinking the flowers of Eternity. This means that their breaths are bound to the ticking of Time's clock, here, in Underland."

Tarrant nodded his head. He understood. And he knew what they would need to do, but could not guess what that wonderful, mad, beautiful blonde girl's choice would be. He knew that as much as Aisling loved Underland, he couldn't be so selfish and expect that she stay here when another family was raising the bright brilliant girl.

Besides, Alice had turned her back on him all those years ago.

"I don't understand!" Aisling shouted. "If it makes her better, why are these flowers bad?"

"Aisling," Tarrant bent over. "If your Mother drinks the potion, she shall have to return to Underland or she won't last long in your world. The flowers only hold their power here."

"She would love that!" Aisling clapped her hands, her smile widening as she turned to Mirana. "Make the elixir! Mother will get better  _and_ return to Underland."

"I will make the potion, Aisling, but it must be up to your Mother whether or not she drinks of the liquid." Mirana's voice shook with concern as she began to collect the ingredients on the marble counter.

Aisling shook her head. "Of course, Mother will drink the potion. Why wouldn't she?"

"What of her ships and her business? What of her travels? What about your Nana and your Aunt Maggie?" Tarrant placed his hand on Aisling's arm. "She has so many things to consider. People and places that you wouldn't be able to experience with her again, Aisling. She knows what would be best for you."

Aisling's brows lowered as her eyes misted once more with tears. "But…but it would be here…with you!" Aisling shook her head harder. "I could stay in Underland and be happy. Come to your tea parties and learn the Lobster Quadrille and hear the song of the Mock Turtle."

"Aisling," Tarrant took both his hands and wrapped them about the girl's cheeks. "I know you love Underland, as your mother did, but she knew she could not stay here. She returned twice when she had the ability to never return home. And she knew she had to. She promised a return only once. If she was meant to stay here, she would have."

"No, no, no, no," Aisling shook her head. "I know that if she knew she would only be able to return once more and it meant forever that she would come."

"And she might, Aisling," Mirana came to the girl's side, standing near to Tarrant. "But we she might also know that it would be best for you to stay in England and then be raised where you would be cared for by your Nana and your Aunt. We love you, Aisling, and we, too, only want what would be right for you, right Mr. Hightopp?"

Aisling's cheeks grew red as her eyes turned a warning shade of yellow. "You are not listening to me! She would know that this place would be best! I wouldn't have to learn French or practice my cross stitching or worry about having holes in my stockings. I would have so many friends and adventures to go on every day."

Tarrant closed his eyes as he listened to the girl rant. He knew only one question that she desperately wanted that would cause her to stop her diatribe. "Aisling…what if your father is up there and your Mother could leave you to him? What if you could go and learn from him on his pirate ship or his merchant vessel or whatever great trade he could teach you, and you would find exciting? That would be better than sitting about stitching and cutting and gluing in a milliner's shop all day, wouldn't it?"

Aisling's yellow eyes dimmed as she looked at him in shock. He could tell that he had wounded her with such a suggestion, but he wanted her to face the truth— she had one other question she desperately wanted Mirana to answer.

Tarrant was surprised when her arms flung about him in an embrace instead of lashing out at him in attack. "I don't care who he is anymore, Mr. Hightopp. You can take me in, right? As your ward? I would learn to sew and glue and make pretty hats for nice ladies and kind lords. I could bring myself to do so."

Tarrant shook his head. "You need to have that answer, Aisling, and it would be unfair for me to take it from you. Queen Mirana is going to make your mother her potion, and we shall go together to bring her the medicine; but it shall be her decision on whether she drinks the elixir, or she decides to go and leave you to what she believes to be a better life. Do you understand, Aisling?"

Aisling looked to Mirana with eyes that pleaded with her to take the girl's side, but Mirana shook her head. "I will make the potion, but Mr. Hightopp is right."

Aisling burst into tears. "She will take the medicine, I know that she will. She misses you all terrible, and she misses you most, Mr. Hightopp. She would want to come back if she had the chance. You'll see. She'll prove you all wrong."

Tarrant took the hysterical little girl into his arms. "No doubt she might, Aisling, as your mother often has a habit of doing. But she wouldn't do this for herself, she would do this only for you." He perched the girl on one of his arms while cradling her head with his head. "Now, as Queen Mirana makes the potion, I believe we shall get you washed and dressed for bed. Your mother's sickness may mean that she needs help as soon as she can get it, but she will have to wait one more Underlandian day. You need your rest so that you are clean and bright enough to travel back to the Hall of Doors tomorrow and back up the rabbit hole."

"But you shall go with me, Mr. Hightopp?" Aisling asked as she burrowed into the crook of his neck.

"I do promise." Tarrant said.

"One of my servants will lead you to a spare room where Miss Kingsleigh can have a bath and some rest." Mirana said. "It will take a couple hours to make the potion just so, thus I think Mr. Hightopp is right. You will be much better after a good night's rest and relaxation and we will have you ready to travel in the morning."

Tarrant mouthed a thank you to queen as he turned from her, holding the girl tightly as he left the monarch behind. He felt his own gut swirling with turmoil as he realized that he would face his greatest fear tomorrow. While Aisling would be worried about whether or not her mother would drink her medicine, Tarrant would wonder what it would be like to meet Alice in her own world after so many years of silence and a cracked looking glass between the two.

* * *

The small workshop in the castle was lit by a flickering candle as he sat hunched over the small pair of stockings that he had promised the girl he would mend for her before returning to her Nana. He tried to focus on the small sound the needle made pulling through the delicate fabric to mend the tear as discreetly as possible. If he allowed himself to fall into the quiet of his thoughts, he knew that he would only find no sleep and further worry.

He only turned his head when the sound of the door to the apartment creaked, pale fingers tipped with ebony nails wrapped about the frame of the wooden portal. He let loose an audible huff as the White Queen slipped into the front room, her boot heels clicking and her skirts swishing in the silence.

"And what is it you want?" Tarrant asked as he pulled the thread through the stocking.

Mirana said nothing as she approached her old friend, her eyes looking about the room as she took the chair beside the large work table. A warm smile spread her dark lips as she turned her attention to the garment that lay folded atop the cherry wood surface. "What beautiful outfit have you made our darling little pixie, Tarrant?" She took the dress in hand.

She displayed the piece before her, marveling at her friend's ability to carve such beauty from the simple fabrics. Tarrant had finished a simple lavender shift with small ruffles at the bosom for a small body. To go with the simple dress design, he had created a patchwork pinafore of royal purple, jade green, magenta, sky blue, and gray. Tarrant glanced over to see how Mirana marveled at the different pieces working together to create a rather pleasing whole.

"It is beautiful, Tarrant, just like your little girl." Tarrant could hear the purpose behind Mirana's carefully chosen words. He said nothing as the queen folded the garment gently, placing the pieces on the workshop table once more with care.

Tarrant continued to darn the stocking in silence as Mirana settled back into the chair. "When are you going to tell her Tarrant, or should I?"

The Hatter felt his eyes burn yellow as he blinked back his anger.  _Focus on the stocking, focus on the thread_ , he sang to himself as he continued to work on the underclothing.

"She should know before she returns to her mother. What if Alice sends her back to Underland with you?" Mirana's fingers petted the fabric of the newly made outfit.

"Without returning with her?" Tarrant scoffed. "You think Alice would do such a thing to the people she loves?"

"I wouldn't know, Tarrant, as you seem to be hiding why you keep denying this precious child is yours— and how you've never met her before." Mirana's hands returned to her lap, closing in a fist before her. "I hardly think it fair that you drag her across Underland and allow her to think that she is the bastard of some pirate off the coast of whatever foreign land Alice has found herself traveling. One might say it's downright cruel."

"Crewl?" Tarrant burred, dropping the stitching on the table. "Yeh meahn teh tehl meh wha's crewl? I dinnae knew o' teh chil' until she wen' droppin' dowhn teh rabbi' 'ole!" Tarrant felt the old anger rising in his chest— the same rage he felt whenever he thought of Alice on long and lonely cold nights. He had once spent them talking with her through a mirror, exchanging stories and ideas and memories.  _The gardens of memory I thought had long ceased_. He thought to himself.

"Tarrant," Mirana was not cowed by his fury. "I do not know what happened between you and Alice, but I must say you cannot allow it to hurt what is between you and that little girl. She's known you barely a day, and she adores you. You are her world, I can see that."

"Et's because o' teh storhies 'er Mother tol' 'er." Tarrant tried to take the darning back in hand, but his fingers shook too much to hold either the needle or the stockings straight.

"And here you think Alice hates you, Tarrant. Why would she tell her daughter so many stories of the Mad Hatter— of  _her father_ — if she didn't intend for you to meet one day?" Mirana shook her head in disbelief, her hand reaching out to wrap around the shaking fist of her friend. "You have to see that Alice cares about you enough to want Aisling to know of you."

"Teh lass keens o' all o' us." Tarrant shook his head, pulling away from his friend's comforting gesture. "She keens o' teh bonnie Whi'e Qween an' teh brave door mowse. Seh keens o' Time an' he's po'er. She keens o' all o' this."

"And yet she thinks you are the greatest of them all." Mirana sighed. "Tarrant, what happened?"

Tarrant shook his head, both ashamed and angry, not wanting his friend and the Queen to know of the mistake that he had made. Of the foolishness both he and Alice had participated in because of emotions and lust and greed. To tell Mirana of such things would be unendurable.

But simultaneously, keeping it quiet had consumed him alive. And apparently kept him ignorant to the one small hope he had.

"It would beh terrible teh tell yeh," Tarrant felt his rage ebb as he slumped into his chair. "It migh' keel me."

Mirana's hand reached out again, this time settling on his forearm. She squeezed the limb gently. "That only means you should tell it."

Tarrant looked sheepishly at his friend, his green eyes beginning to fill with tears. "You must not judge me." He lisped hoarsely.

"Never," Mirana shook her curls, her own dark eyes misting with tears He knew in that moment he could believe her.

"It started with the mirror." He began, his eyes closing as he could see the past in clear detail. "The one you gave me so that I could speak with my dear Alice."

"I understand, I have one of the same. But it has stood empty and bare for too many months." She leaned toward her friend, her chin wresting on her outstretched arm. "What has happened to our dear Alice?"

Tarrant shook his head, fighting with his emotions as he tried to tell the story. "We spoke nearly every day. She had the looking glass arranged in her cabin, and I in my room near the workshop at the windmill..." He took the darning up in hand, trying to still his shaking mind by busying his trembling hands. "And the enchantment you placed on it worked. I could send her little outfits to wear while traveling the villages far off lands; she sent me tea that steeped from blooming flowers. She would send me drawings and I would attempt my hand at bad poetry (for who would ever want good poetry— what need is there for that in this world?). And then we realized that we could travel to one another's rooms.

"She tried it first; she noticed that if she leaned forward enough she could pass her hand through the glass like reaching into the surface of a pond. She must have had the idea from traveling through the looking glass in the mansion above. One day, when she was serving me some heady tea from a land called Saigon, she pushed her arm through the looking glass and tumbled headlong into my bed chambers. And we discovered that we could walk through to the other side."

"You remember that the enchantment I put on it allowed for that," Mirana interrupted Tarrant's retelling with a gentle reminder.

"I do," Tarrant nodded "But I did not always believe it at the time and I did not tell her at first. Not until she tumbled through. And then I had to tell her what you told me—  _one must pass through and one must return to the home from which they came._ He placed his hands on his face as he revealed more of the tale to the Queen. "We were always so careful, giving wide berth of the looking glass as we passed through. I spent time on the ship. She returned to have tea parties. But never for long stretches of Time. We did not wish to test Luck. Until one evening…" Tarrant shook his head, pressing the heels of his palm into his weary eyes.

"Tarrant," Mirana's voice was gentle and low. "You have come this far, you can tell me the rest."

"We had confessed that we had loved each other not long after we began our looking glass visits; I suppose it was more a courtship than old friends checking in on one another," he mused as he forced himself to drop his hands to his lap. "We traded small gestures that bosom friends might exchange, such as pecks on the cheek and hugs that lingered too long. It was one night, however, when I was on her ship, that she kissed me. A proper real kiss that little girls dream of when their parents tell them of knights saving princesses." Tarrant flushed, avoiding looking at Mirana as he told the story. Instead, he forced himself to close his eyes, to try to remember that evening.

* * *

_Tarrant looked at the pocket watch that hung beside Alice's bunk. The hour was drawing late, and he knew that he would need to melt through the glass of the mirror that looked into his room instead of reflecting the image of the two friends sitting at a small table enjoying cups of tea. He stirred, not wanting to wake his muscles to movement, wanting to stay just a little longer. The two had already begun to spend far longer together than he guessed was permitted by Mirana's strange magic._

" _A penny," Alice purred as she took a scarred hand in her own._

" _When will you return?" Tarrant pleaded, grabbing hold of Alice's hand. "You promised you would come back to me. When?"_

" _I will," Alice insisted. "I am returning to port and now I am certain. I have served my time here and I want to tumble down the rabbit hole…but I'm not sure where it has gone to. Will you meet me?"_

" _Will you truly follow me down?"_

" _I promise," Alice leaned forward to place a kiss on his cheek._

" _What will you give me as a token? I will keep it until you return to me— forever." He teased, his finger tapping her nose playfully._

_Alice slid across the distance between the two of them, settling into his lap. Her arms wrapped about his neck as her mouth pressed onto his lips. Tarrant could taste the saltiness of the sea air and the sweetness of the sugar from the tea. He found it easier to return the gesture, his mouth widening to try to taste more of her. She responded, her breaths growing ragged as she kissed him senselessly._

_He wasn't entirely aware of what had happened. But the next thing he knew, he was stripped to the waist and Alice was undoing the buttons of her pants, her shirt pulled from the waistband and buttons pulled from the front panel. The two made their way to her bunk, Tarrant atop Alice as he slid from his own trousers. The two were soon naked, warm bodies pressed together in the chilly cabin air._

_He knew what true joy and understanding was that night. What it meant to truly know another person. With every writhing buckle from Alice and the small moans he elicited with kisses and caresses and thrusts, he understood this was the promise Alice was giving him. That the two would share more of Time like this together, limbs entwined. For now, he relished in every shudder and moan that came from the body beneath him, his own body singing in perfect harmony._

_He awoke the next morning to her leaning over him. The two were still bare, a blanket thrown over their bodies. She must have been watching him, her fingers combing through his wiry red hair as her green eyes bathed him in drowsy attention._

" _Didn't you sleep?" He murmured, rustling in the sheets._

" _Yes, and quite well," she answered. "But the sun has risen and so has the crew. They will think something is wrong if I do not join them on deck soon. And I shouldn't want them to come upon my cabin and find me like this." She pulled the sheet away from her body to reveal the pale curves of her shoulders and breasts and tummy and hips._

_Tarrant growled as he shifted atop her, stealing a kiss from her mouth. "I am a jealous and selfish Mad Hatter and I want all of this for myself." He groaned as he wrapped his arm around the curve of her back._

" _You will. That is the promise I give you." She answered._

" _Would you go with me now?" Tarrant begged. "You could climb through the mirror and this could all be over, this waiting."_

" _Tarrant," Alice sat up, shaking her head and her long blonde locks. "I…I don't know if I could."_

_Tarrant pushed himself from the bed, stumbling off the mattress and onto the floor. He gathered his clothes in hand, holding out his hand for Alice._

_Alice looked at him, her head cocked as she watched him approach the mirror, his hand outstretched. "Come, Alice. At least for a little bit. Enjoy some tea and scones. I'll beg Time to stand still for you."_

_Alice flushed as she curled inwardly, brushing her hand shyly behind her ear. "I don't know, Tarrant."_

" _I shall make you a wonderful sailing dress to wear for the day. A token to show that I am thinking of you." He begged._

_Alice nodded her head, deciding that she would follow him. Tarrant smiled, stepping through the looking glass first. When he had entered his own room, he had stepped away, giving room for Alice to walk through._

_Alice smiled coquettishly as she let the sheet fall from her bare body. "There's no point in bringing clothes if you say you'll make me something," she winked. She reached her hand toward the glass…_

_And her hand stopped, a resounding_ _**thunk** _ _filling the room._

_Tarrant watched as Alice's widened; they danced as they watched something before her. Tarrant looked down and saw that the place where Alice had tried to push her hand through, as she had done hundreds of times in the past, had begun to splinter._

" _Tarrant!" Alice's voice was muffled as she pounded on the looking glass. "What is happening?"_

" _I don't know!" Tarrant yelled. "Oh Alice! I don't know."_

" _What should I do?" She begged for help, her palms pressing desperately against the fading mirror._

" _I will come and get you. I will go to the rabbit hole. Oh, Alice, meet me there!"_

_He did not receive an answer as she disappeared from view, and her image was replaced with a splintered and darkened image of the room where Tarrant stood, completely naked, trembling, and crumpling over with tears._

* * *

"I went to the rabbit hole, but she was not there." Tarrant's hands had returned to cover his face. "I went for nearly a moon's phase and she never came, as she promised she would. I knew then that she never wished to see me again."

"And how did you know?" Mirana shook her head, her brows twisting as she tried to make sense of her friend's reasoning.

"She would have come back, I knew she would have. I left her a sign to let her know that I had returned there, something she would have known was from me. And when I came back to find it untouched, I left her another that let her know I understood— she never wished to return." Tarrant shook his head. "I wish I had known what I had done. Perhaps it was staying the night that had caused what had happened to the mirror. All I know is that the splintered looking glass led to Alice abandoning us forever."

Mirana shook her head, letting out a small laugh. Tarrant looked over at his friend in disbelief, horrified to know that she found something in his painful memory amusing.

"Tarrant," Mirana's hand cupped his shoulder now. "You must know why the mirror responded as it should. Looking back and telling me the story."

"Because we had done something wrong?"

"The enchantment, Tarrant," Mirana shook her head. "The enchantment permitted only one to pass through into a world which wasn't their home."

Tarrant peered between his fingers at her, his brows knitting as he shook his head. He did not understand what Mirana seemed to understand about the looking glass.

"Alice was no longer one person, Tarrant," Mirana answered, leaning back in her chair and chewing her fingers pensively. "She could not pass through the glass because she carried one into a place that was not her home— at least not officially." Mirana shook her head. "Alice did not come to the rabbit hole because she was probably giving birth and raising that beautiful little girl in the next room. And you couldn't have known," Mirana's hand now cupped her mouth as she shook her head. "Oh, Tarrant, that idea is so sad to me."

"But it was only once!" Tarrant insisted. "We had never known each other so…intimately…before that night." He insisted.

"It was enough," Mirana answered. "Oh, Tare."

"She is probably so angry at me for not knowing. For not coming. For not  _being_ there." Tarrant felt his rage rising. "Ah woul' beh."

"She would understand," Mirana interrupted him. "If she knew what had happened. You  _must_ go with Aisling, Tarrant. You must tell her."

"I…" Tarrant shook his head. "I don't know if I could. I don't know if I could survive her choosing to refuse the potion and to stay with the people who have cared for her when I was not there. When I didn't try harder…"

"Mr. Hightopp…" a small voice disrupted Tarrant's rant. Mirana and the Hatter turned to Aisling standing in the doorway of the Mad Hatter's workshop. She was dressed in a simple white night gown. Her ginger curls were a mane about her head.

"Oh, Aisling," Mirana stood. "What are you doing up?"

"I had a bad dream," the girl responded quietly. "I didn't mean to interrupt, but I was afraid."

Tarrant looked to Mirana. The queen gathered her skirts in hand and began to make her way toward the door. "I am sure Mr. Hightopp can make you a cup of calming tea to help you soothe away the worries. He has a way of making Champions feel better."

Tarrant watched as Mirana grabbed hold of the handle of the door to the apartment, sliding out into the hallway to leave the Hatter and the child along together. Before she left, however, she turned give Tarrant a knowing look.

Tarrant responded with a tight frown, but then quickly turned to Aisling who was trembling at his side.

"Queen Mirana knows many things, and she knows one thing for certain— Marmoreal has the best teas to help settle troubling dreams. What do you say about me boiling you a pot and we can sit and drink some together? I am having trouble finding sleep, too, and I could use the help to settle."

"I think," Aisling paused as she looked up at the Hatter, her green eyes swirling with color, "I think I would like that."

Tarrant nodded his head and then took the child's small hand. He lead her into the kitchenette in the room and set to work preparing them a much needed cup of tea.

**Author's Note:**

> **I had to use Google translate for both the Chinese and French [because I only know rusty Spanish, okay!]. I tried to translate them back several times to make sure they're right. Please feel free to correct me, however!
> 
> Shāo xiān cǎo: grass jelly (a Chinese/East Asian treat)
> 
> Nǐ bùyào chǔn: Don't be stupid
> 
> Les bonnes dames parlent français: Proper ladies speak French
> 
> Les bonnes dames parlent français et parlent bien le français: Proper ladies speak French and speak French well
> 
> Désolé madame...Je vais essayer plus fort:
> 
> As always, if you have any questions, my inbox is always open. Leave a like/comment/review if you can. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this so far! What do you think of Aisling? And her father? Will Tarrant be able to help Alice?
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Fairfarren,
> 
> Lydia


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